


Disobedience

by seerstella



Category: Pet Shop of Horrors
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Implied Leon/D, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Minor Chris/OC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-02-10 09:36:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18657778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seerstella/pseuds/seerstella
Summary: While resettling down in his hometown after long journeys through every Chinatowns in the world, Orcot discovers something: maybe the truth is closer than he thinks.Birthday Fic for Hermina05 (originally finished on May 5, 2018 and posted here a year later).(Updated to add an illustration link in the end)





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hermina05](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hermina05/gifts).



> Title: Disobedience  
> Author: Seer M. Anno  
> Disclaimer: I own nothing but the story and the original characters.  
> Rating: R  
> Pairing: implied Leon Orcot/Count D  
> Warnings: implicit het sexual scenes, abuse, possible OOCness, some OCs  
> Genre: AU.  
> A/N: 2018 Birthday Fic for Hermina05. Will be posted continuously for her birthday in May 5, which marks a year of this fic being done.  
> Reviews are much appreciated!

**And you said ‘Never forget me’**

**as if the coast could forget the ocean**

**or the lung could forget the breath**

**or the earth could forget the sun**

**—Beau Taplin || _A  Reminder—_**

* * *

**_Tea._ **

**_Steaming hot. Sweet to the point of diabetic._ **

**_Drank slowly, as if not wanting it to be spent so quickly. But it vanished anyway, its warmth spreading inside the body._ **

**_After a while of staring, the teacup was finally put back onto the table._ **

****

**_“Twinkle, twinkle, little star…”_ **

* * *

Orcot was nothing but determined.

It was something he was famous for, after all, according to his coworkers. The first time he stepped in his current workplace, he had nothing else in his mind other than determination, hardened for years and based on something he had never told anyone. It came from his years of travelling all around the world, looking for something that he wasn’t sure what it was anymore. The failures blurred his main objective, leaving him with steely hard resolve and a dream.

But it was enough, until one day he woke up in a cheap hotel in Chinatown, belonged to a country he could no longer memorize. The thoughts of being let down once again finally, _finally_ won. Truth be told, his wallet screamed about it much more than his head, and he was forced to _shatter_ his resolution with pure logic.

He was almost thirty when he returned home and started over. Twenty-eight years old, to be precise. This time, he formed a new dream, which was to keep a memory of his beloved to himself. Orcot decided to wear that memory like a comfortable, prestigious cloak, something he would be proud to be in, and would flaunt it everywhere he went. He wanted to _cover_ himself with it, because he knew that he would be just fine, now that the memory would never fail him.

Despite that, there were _a lot of times_ when he wanted to throw that away so badly, to stand on his two legs on his own. It was the time when he didn’t want to _think_ about _anything_ and _everything_ ; when he was forced to question his beliefs and point of view and just _why why why_ things went this way.

Maybe it was fate, maybe it was a disaster. Orcot would never know, and at this time of day he wanted _so much_ to find someone that could guide him, help him in the time of need—

No.

He stopped himself before he could think any further and let his mind say the name. He had to; before images presented themselves and made his heart ache and his head dizzy and his eyes glassy and his mind traitorous. Thing was, Officer **Christopher Kelsey Orcot** was on his own right now, and such thoughts didn’t belong in his head anymore.

* * *

_“Look! He’s kinda familiar…”_

_At his sister’s words, Chris, eleven years old, tried to make his way towards the TV, his brow wrinkling. Television was displaying the news channel, with a reporter standing before the camera. Apparently there was a commotion in the national zoo. The language she spoke failed to be understood, but that wasn’t the important thing. He didn’t care about the person speaking, only to a man standing a few feet behind her._

_“Whoa,” Chris whispered in awe. He would recognize that man_ everywhere _. “I knew it! I’m so glad he’s not dead! I can still see him someday! I hope I know where he is…”_

_Josie wrinkled her brow. “I thought he was dead?”_

_Chris stopped being cheerful. It was his first thought that started a train of internal questions and soul searching._

* * *

Since he graduated high school and did his journeys, Chris had started to dream, and it wasn’t pleasant. Well, he was most likely _confused_ of what to call it: a dream or a nightmare. It was frightening, but towards the end it turned soothing instead. He would find himself in a pitch black room, and he was a child. There were people shouting from outside the room, scaring him very much that he wanted to cry out for help, or just for _attention_.

But somehow he didn’t. He _couldn’t_. He wanted to scream, but something stopped him. His mind betrayed him and shut his mouth. There was a string of words, spoken by someone he couldn’t identify; the tone frantic and urgent and booked no room for argument. It was enough for little Chris to obey, even though he wanted not to _so badly_.

 

_Please don’t scream, don’t cry, just please be quiet this once, alright, Chris? Please? Please? Hush, hush, zipper on your lips. Keep quiet, okay?_

 

Chris did, even though it was so hard not to. He didn’t know what was happening, only the intense fear explained that whatever was going on, he would be in danger if he were discovered. So he kept crouching on where he was sitting on, trying to fall asleep despite the coldness that was enveloping his little body, the words kept repeating itself in his head.

 

_Please don’t scream, don’t cry, just please be quiet this once, alright, Chris? Please? Please? Hush, hush, zipper on your lips. Keep quiet, okay?_

 

Suddenly, it was warm.

Chris was too terrified to react, and the room was too dark for him to recognize his surroundings. Then he felt someone caressing his hair, warm hands pulling his small form into an embrace. But he didn’t know who that was, and even though he could hear the person speaking, he couldn’t make out the words.

The shouting still went on and on until it finally stopped, and Chris would wake up, the sudden absence of high-pitched voices and soothing whispers made him even more nervous than when he had been in his sleep.

Huh. Maybe it was a nightmare, after all. 

* * *

There was something Chris discovered about himself as he went towards adulthood. The realization filled his body with dread, but he never told another soul about it. It acted like a child with mood swings inside his head; sometimes it appeared out of nowhere, making him uncomfortable.

Now was the best example of it.

Her body was soft and excited, sitting on top of him, showing him that she was _more_ than willing. Still, he was unable to concentrate. He knew more than to leave her unsatisfied, but he couldn’t help but to let _ignorance_ and _uneasiness_ take down his libido, to keep him as soft as her bouncing breasts presented in front of his eyes.

“You bastard!”

Chris felt no more weight on his lap and had to fight a sigh of relief, not wanting to infuriate her more than he already had. The woman was now sprawled on the mattress, on such position that would’ve stirred something in him, if he were a ‘ _normal_ ’ person. But this wasn’t normal. Chris knew that as well as he knew the back of his own hand. He didn’t know why, but he knew he was not like any of his male colleagues, and he was scared as hell to admit it.

“Are you gonna keep leading me on?” she snarled from the pillow, where she’d buried her face on. He needed a few seconds to realize that she was crying. “I’ve been with you since last year, and this is the only thing I want! Is it so hard to… to make _me_ happy?”

Yes, it was. Chris wasn’t like those guys in the precinct. He didn’t know how to make her happy _that way_. He knew when and where to give her presents and flowers and jokes to make her eyes lit up in amusement and other positive emotions that never emerged when they were tangled up under the sheets. He knew when to wrap his arms around her slender frame and whisper the right words to soothe her sobs. But he didn’t know how to present _intimacy_ to please her whims. He never felt any urge to, and he knew he wouldn’t anytime soon, with or without her.

If only Leon was here, he would’ve had got himself an excellent guru.

Leon.

The thought of that name made Chris groan. This was one time when he wasn’t supposed to think of him. But it was too late, for the internal comparison was inevitable. When he was a child, he used to think Leon as some kind of playboy; someone who was easy to have girls in his arms with his good looks.

 _Unlike yourself_ , his cruel mind mocked.

Even though in the end he knew it wasn’t true—Aunt Jill’s visit clarified that for him; that girls never liked a third-rate detective like his brother, shame on them—but that image of Leon still possessed the major part of his mind. Leon, for little Chris, was perfect as he was.

“Yes!” She rose from her now wet pillow. “You’re supposed to be sorry!” she half-yelled, mistaking his voice of distress as an apology.

Chris let her.


	2. Christopher (Part I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris finds someone.

**To Leon and the Count,**

 

**You were a risk,**

**a mystery,**

**and the most**

**certain thing I’d ever known**

**—Beau Taplin || _A Certainty—_**

* * *

 

_REGISTRATION DATE: xx/xx/xxxx_

_LOCAL REGISTRATION NUMBER: xxxxxxxxxxxxx_

**_CERTIFICATE OF DEATH_ **

_  
_

_NAME OF DECEDENT: **ORCOT, LEONARD TERRENCE  
**_

_SEX: **MALE  
**_

_AGE: **25**_

_DECEDENT’S RACE: **WHITE, CAUCASIAN**_

_OCCUPATION: **POLICE DETECTIVE**  
_

_KIND OF BUSINESS: **LAW ENFORCEMENT**_

_INFORMANT NAME, RELATIONSHIP: **JILLIAN AMANDA FRESHNEY, WORK PARTNER**_

_NAME OF FATHER: **ORCOT, ANDREW WAYNE**  
_

_STATUS: **DECEASED**_

 

_NAME OF MOTHER: **HUNTLEY, CAROLINE MARGARET**  
_

_STATUS: **DECEASED**_

 

_NAME OF SURVIVING FAMILY MEMBER: **ORCOT, CHRISTOPHER KELSEY  
**_

_RELATIONSHIP: **YOUNGER BROTHER (AGE 7)**_

_CAUSE OF DEATH: **ASPHYXIA AND THERMAL BURNS**_

_NOTES:_ **_PRESUMED DEAD IN THE FIRE OF X BUILDING, XXX BLVD XXX (NEAR LOS ANGELES’ CHINATOWN), ALONG WITH VESCA JONATHAN HOWELL (FBI AGENT)._ **

* * *

Leon’s grave was neat, placed right next to his mother’s—written Caroline Margaret Huntley on the gravestone, much to Chris’ confusion—where it acted more as a memorial than an actual place to bury someone. Mom was the one who insisted, despite the fact that his body was never found and presumed dead in the explosion. Chris didn’t want to think about it. When he was a kid, he hadn’t been averse to the idea, because this meant he had a place to go to whenever he missed his older brother.

When he had grown, the other thing he was thankful about was the fact that Mom insisted that Leon’s grave should’ve been made in _New York_ , where Chris spent almost all of his years in. This way, he didn’t need to make a cross-country trip just to say hi in the public cemetery in LA. The Huntleys—his late mother’s family—grew up in Long Island, hence the approval. Chris was lucky his stepmother was stubborn enough to get what she wanted.

_Must’ve run in the family._

“Yo, big bro,” he broke the silence just to keep his thoughts away, parroting the greeting Leon used to say when he hadn’t even lived a decade. He knelt and stared at the flower in his hand. The rose he’d bought today was bright yellow; a color that reminded Chris of his hair before the flames took him— _no_. “Robyn dumped me today. Finally. Guess she’ll hook up with someone else soon. Or return to me when nobody wants her. As usual.”

Leon didn’t answer. He never did, but Chris didn’t care.

“I don’t know what to say to her. Not this time, never about this.”

 _You never say anything when you’re a kid and all’s good_ , Leon’s gruff voice echoed in his head.

 _Only in my head_.

With a start, Chris realized _how the tables have turned_. Death had taken over Leon’s voice just like despair had taken Chris’ when he was a child. But death was much, much crueler than a mere sadness. Leon would never return. Even though the time they shared together was brief, Chris had felt more _alive_ under his brother’s wing than in his entire teenage years.

But Leon had decided to run after his detective instinct and it cost him his life. Aunt Jill’s sudden arrival in Chris’ apartment, a few months after Chris joined NYPD, bringing a copy of Leon’s death certificate, had told him that, along with more things that Chris had yet known.

 

_The certificate was Chris’ most prized possession._

_Folded neatly and put in his wallet, right behind the only picture of Leon he had._

 

Aunt Jill—it was still hard to call her only by her name—had accidentally found him in the PD’s database when she was idly searching for Leon, and ended up tracking him down. The visit ended up in revelations in a secluded area of a café neither had come into.

Leon’s former partner had told Chris that Leon had trusted his gut and gone with Count D into a building that exploded not long after. That his brother had rushed into danger without thinking, which was typical of him, in order to satisfy his sense-of-justice-slash-obsession. That LAPD honored him, calling him a good law enforcer. That there was a picture of Leon in the bar where the cops usually drank, back there in LA. That Aunt Jill was proud of his brother, yet she slipped a message that Chris shouldn’t be like him, for a mere instinct was not enough, for he needed more than just guts.

 _Look where Leon ended up_ , was the unsaid remark.

Tears ran on Chris’ cheeks and he cried for the first time in a few years.

* * *

The news of strange deaths caused by pets and the fact that Ken, a fellow officer, just discovered a ‘Count D Pet Shop’ in NY’s Chinatown, weren’t supposed to be something that _thrilled_ Chris, but it did. It wasn’t the case that made his mood lighten, but the fact that he was not lost; he was walking under Leon’s shadow and this was a cherry on top. He was worried that Leon would slip away from his grasp and he would be abandoned, just like when he was little.

_Wonderful._

The cakes came naturally; he knew how much Count D liked them. He had expected everything to happen and he had even rehearsed their conversation in mind. He was determined not to act like Leon. His brother had crass tendencies and the best gut instinct in the whole world that earned him Count D as his… _friend_ , but Chris wanted quick answers. Being rude wasn’t something that would end up in a satisfying interrogation. 

Plus, Count D liked him. Not in the way he ‘liked’ Leon, but still.

Back then, Chris had been convinced that the Count and Leon didn’t like each other. _People with hatred fight all the time, correct?_ They fought so often that even the little Chris could know that whatever they had been fighting about wasn’t that important.

Still, it scared Chris when they had started to yell at each other, especially when his ‘education’ was concerned. He had never wanted to be the cause of their fights, even though Tetsu and Pon-chan and the others had told him that they were mere idiots who liked to shout just for the sake of it and nothing Chris did could stop them. But his teenage years brought him love stories of his friends’, which made him able to conclude that maybe there was more than that. Maybe they fought because raised voices and shouted profanities were their comfort zone?

“That can happen, silly,” Josie, his oldest stepsister, had said when he’d came to her for answers. “Stupid, I know, but not impossible. Not all people can stand lovey-dovey shit all the time. Do you know what defense mechanism is?”

Chris had read about that, but he’d shaken his head nonetheless.

“It’s like a hole. A burrow to hide yourself when you’re overwhelmed with something. It’s made of your attitude when you want to react under stressful situations. Some people use anger as their defense mechanism, and when they’re overwhelmed, that’s what they look like in the outside.” She had playfully ruffled his hair, doing it the way Leon used to. Thinking about the comparison made Chris feel uneasy. “Why did you ask, Chris? You found a girl like that?”

Chris had let her believe what she wanted to believe, and left it at that. Maybe _that_ was Leon and the Count’s defense mechanism. He remembered how Leon’s eyes twinkled after the fight was done, even though he was bruised from one of Count D’s pristine teacups, or how Leon always returned to the pet shop despite how bad he had quarreled with the Count a few hours back. Chris hadn’t been able to decipher what that was back then, but maybe he had inkling _now_.

Besides, there was _that day_ to be considered. Chris stopped himself from thinking further, but his mind was traitorous. He would find himself being a six-year old again, standing on the shore with his new friend—Faye?—and watching her grandfather’s boat coming closer to them. Grandpa Sid was nowhere in sight, only the Count and his brother.

And they were…

 

_They were—_

 

“What can I do for you?”

The words cut his memories, returning Chris to the present. The first thing he noticed about the pet shop owner was the fact that he was _different_. Even with the same exotic, peculiar beauty, he wasn’t the same Count D who had taken care of Chris for almost a year. All the dialogues in his mind shattered like glass. The interior didn’t have much difference, but the air and the pets were no longer the same.

He was lucky the cake in his hand was received with joy.

At least, one thing didn’t change.

* * *

“You look happier.”

“Thanks, Pam,” Chris replied, looking up from the paperwork he was working and flashing his partner a smile. It felt good, smiling like that. When did he last smile? Even he himself didn’t have any idea.

“Told ‘ya that girl’s not good for you,” Pam continued, eyeing him sympathetically. “Whatever. I’m just glad you’re feeling better. All Robyn does is just pushing you around and make you feel bad.”

“It’s okay now. I really did… _love_ her, at some point.” To hide his embarrassment, he resumed his work. “She’s good, I guess.”

“ _Was_ good, because all she’s doing right now is bitching on how terrible you are in bed. Never really want to touch her and all.” Chris blushed furiously at her remark. “Seriously. I don’t need to hear that. What you think of her, Orcot, and what she wants you to do, is none of my business. They should stay away from my ears.”

Chris couldn’t help but to smile a little as he continued to write. Suddenly, his interest towards the paperwork increased tenfold. “Thanks, Pam.”

Pam snorted, showing total ignorance, but he knew she appreciated it nonetheless. “Anyway, where are you going tonight? Heard from Anna you’re busy for the rest of this week. Another tea time with that pet shop owner?” It stopped Chris from working and he looked up again, at a smirk that crossed her lips. “What? You’ve been doing that since you broke up. I won’t blame you if you find an enjoyable place to spend your nights in.”

“Shut it,” he muttered, not in anger because it was true even though he had to omit the sexual undertones from her words.

Pam laughed and that was that.

* * *

“I really wish to find the Count D from my childhood,” Chris said in a pleading tone. “I know he’s not dead along with my brother. I saw him on TV when I was eleven years old. Please, do you know where he is?”

Leon would’ve laughed at him out loud for _begging_ like that, but Chris had his own techniques. Although a bit fuzzy, he still remembered how _adamant_ the Count was to keep him away from his brother’s crude behavior. Maybe the current D—now he understood why Leon had found the Count so _frustrating_ ; they even had the same _name_!—would be taken away by his gentler, much politer, charm.

“Since you’ve known the truth about my father, I see there is no use of lying,” New D—as Chris liked to refer—said evenly. Chris wanted to protest—why should he lied to him, anyway?—but New D had continued as if he didn’t see Chris’ expression. “My father is in an unspecified location where even I myself don’t have any idea. Please, your tea is getting cold. It will be such a waste.”

Chris sipped it—still too much sugar, _nauseating_ yet _so familiar_ —out of courtesy. He wanted _so badly_ to ask _when_ actually the Count tied the knot and had a kid, but decided to save it for later. “Can you contact him or something? I just want to ask him some questions.”

From the place he was standing, New D regarded him as if he were an ant next to his foot. “Have you tried finding him by yourself?”

“I won a scholarship to Germany, and it was where I decided to look for the Count,” Chris began. “The news from when I was eleven took place in Berlin, after all. He was no longer there, so I decided to work to gain some money so I can travel around the world just to find him, especially to the places where strange death caused by animals occurred.”

Sighing, Chris proceeded by reciting all the states and countries he had gone to before he gave in to his fate and got himself in law enforcement, just like his brother. He had looked up for the location of Chinatown in each places he visited, but always went back home empty-handed.

“What makes you stop?”

“The money,” Chris admitted something he had never wanted to say out loud. He had the tea and the comforting smell of incense to blame. “And the feeling of uselessness. Like… I knew I was going to fail, that your father wasn’t in the Chinatown I went to. Sometimes, that feeling can be suffocating.”

New D sat down on his usual chair, a strange smile on his face. Chris had never seen it before.

* * *

“Good evening. What can I do for you, Officer?”

Chris had a bad day; his empty gun could explain it better than him. His first instinct was to cry for the innocent lives taken by those bank robbers, but he knew better. He was no longer a child. There was no Mom or Leon to cuddle him, to tell him that everything would be just fine and all those cliché shit like that. Not even Robyn and her condescending words.

The only thing he had for a distraction was this place, and the pet shop wasn’t even too eager to have him. Chris nodded in apology at the pet shop owner and smiled weakly at his companion, a loud Pomeranian called Ro. Sometimes she would come towards him, wagging her almost-nonexistent tail, but there were times when she would bark at him as if wanting to kick him out the door.

Ro wasn’t like Q-chan, and would never be. She couldn’t fly, didn’t let out strange, cutesy noises, and was _normal_ enough to pass as a pet owned by humans. But Chris couldn’t help but to feel nostalgic as his eyes wandered to the canine. The fact that she was female reminded him of Pon-chan, somehow, despite that she was a little girl from his childhood, and _certainly_ not an animal.

Chris looked up at the figure standing nearby. New D was as flashing as usual in his fancy night attire even though sleepiness was evident in his eyes—as violet as one of the Count’s mismatched ones. If someone didn’t know him well enough, it’d look like he’d _prepared_ himself for Chris’ sudden arrival. He stared at Ro, who finally stopped barking at Chris as if he were some burglar getting into the house.

“Why are you not angry?”

“Of what, if I may know?”

“Me barging into this place in the middle of the night.” The warmth from the tea, radiating on the teacup, helped Chris to concentrate.

“Do you want me to?”

“Of course not!” Shocked at the volume of his voice, Chris hung his head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it. Taking it out to you, I mean.”

New D didn’t say anything from the place he was standing, and even Ro was frozen on her spot. Chris sighed and stood, feeling even more uneasy than before. He had screwed up and he knew better than to tell the pet shop owner about his day. “I’ll just leave. I’ll see you later.”

Nobody stopped Chris. But New D opened his mouth when the police officer had his hand on the handle.

“Officer Orcot, I will not object if you decide to sleep here.”

“Huh?” For some reason, the pattern on the door was so interesting Chris couldn’t tear his eyes off. “What did you say?”

“You are free to rest in this place, Officer. After all, it will be such a shame to see my father’s beloved exception so disheartened.”

When Chris turned sharply at him, New D had vanished to the back door, leaving Ro with her dark, shiny eyes judging him. Officer Orcot failed to find him, he didn’t stay for the night, and his mood worsened.


	3. Christopher (Part II)

It was three months later when Mom fell sick.

Chris and his stepsisters had known that it was bound to happen. But it was still painful when the police officer found himself leaving the force for the day and ending up in the hospital room. Dad was there, as always, and sometimes Josie and Sam joined him. At special days, the family would spend a night in the hospital, with Chris, Josie, and Sam sleeping on sleeping bags spread on the floor and Dad nestling on the sofa.

“Christopher, my son. Come here,” Mom called one night, when the rest of the family was too occupied in the dreamland after celebrating Sam’s birthday. Chris, a light sleeper he was (something he inherited from Leon, according to Dad), jolted awake and tiptoed towards his stepmother’s bed, quietly enough so he wouldn’t wake anyone.

“Yes, Mom?” he whispered as he took a seat, watching her carefully. _Maybe she needs the nurses?_ At first he thought she was merely hallucinating, that the meds were taking over her logical, awake side of mind, but her eyes were clear enough to show that she was up.

“Make your hair longer, and you’ll look just like Leon.”

“What?” It wasn’t the first time Chris was compared to Leon’s physical appearance, and he had seen Leon’s childhood pictures to know how much they resembled each other. He was actually proud of that fact, for it meant Leon was still living inside him somehow. But Mom never really liked to talk about his late brother, thus her words baffled him.

“That open-mouthed silly expression of his… of yours… that one was certainly Carol’s. The three of you… really look alike.”

The subject of Chris’ birth mother would never stop make him feel uncomfortable, but he ignored it and let her speak. “What is it… about… _my_ mother? Mom?”

“I see Carol a lot these days,” she said hoarsely. “She is happy.”

Chris had seen enough near-death scenes to know what she meant. But this was his family; he didn’t know how to react. “I… I see,” he eventually managed to let out. He tried his best to keep his voice light and stable. He knew better than to agitate her. “I’m glad to hear that, Mom.”

“She asks about you and your brother. I told her you two have been going along well, even though you two are so far apart. She was afraid Leon would hate you, Chris. But he didn’t. I know he didn’t.”

“He… he dumped me, Mom. He didn’t care about me,” Chris spoke desperately, his throat closing up. He was going to cry and he didn’t like it one bit. “He left me in your hands, Mom. He was… he was irresponsible and uncaring and he ignored me even though he knew where I live.”

It was a silly thought and Chris knew that. But still… he loved Leon and he knew his brother loved him too, but the fact was still there, at the back of his mind. Samantha’s cruel remark had sent him to Leon’s arms, pulling the equally evil thought from its hidden place and haunted him all this years. If Leon loved him, why would he leave Chris in his relatives’ house?

If Chris was in a right mind, he knew how ridiculous he was. Leon was barely an adult when he was born; eighteen years old was surely not an age to take care of a baby. But this time he couldn’t help but to let the insecurities to jump out. He just couldn’t help it. There were too much questions about his biological family that he couldn’t find any answer of, and his dying stepmother was the last link and he wasn’t going to waste any second of it.

“I know, my son, I know.” She smiled and Chris let her bony hand caress his hair, cutting off his thoughts. “There is no day when I will not consider you my son, but you are Carol’s and you’ll always be. And Leon’s, too. He was young, too young, and he had his mistakes, but he loves you. He was doing his best to help you but didn’t know how to… _deal_ with the situation.”

At her way of speaking, Chris was distinctly reminded of Madam Sultana, whose face strangely matched his late biological mother, but hurriedly discarded the thought. He grasped his stepmother’s—his _mother_ ’s—hand and held tight.

“Carol is sure Leon is proud of you. She’s proud of both of you, too.”

“What?”

“There you go, with that silly expression again. Christopher, if… if I die—”

“Mom, _please_ —”

“If I _die_ , Chris, don’t interrupt me. If I die, ask Stan to give you my diary. I’ve told him to keep it for you. Promise me you will take it.”

Chris had to struggle to keep his tears from rolling over. “I promise.”

“That’s my boy. Take care of yourself.”

A few hours later, she died in her sleep, with Chris staying next to her. It was ironic, somehow, because she died on _Samantha’s_ birthday. Chris didn’t mention it to his youngest stepsister, though, for he knew how painful it was to be reminded of such thing. Instead, he was deadly silent in her funeral, and didn’t even speak as close friends from the force and the relatives sending him their condolences.

“Christopher, come here.”

It was Dad who was able to coax Chris into speaking for the first time in the day. “Yes, Dad.”

As predicted, Dad handed him a book. The cover was black and looked tattered, showing the obviously old age. “Your mother wants me to give it to you, Christopher,” he said. “She said it’s yours to keep.”

Chris fulfilled his promise. He took the diary, yet he merely put it in the bookshelf in his apartment and let dust collect it, untouched. For some reason, he didn’t want to read it just yet.

* * *

“My deepest condolences for the death of your mother.”

Chris frowned in disbelief, for New D sometimes let out weird remarks about humans, but eventually decided that the current pet shop owner was serious enough, even though he was eyeing the pastries Chris had brought with something resembled greed. It was another thing that made him so familiar; the Count would also do _everything_ to get his hands on a pastry.

“Thank you,” he replied, sipping his tea and ignoring how New D started to devour the nearest cake. “I won’t be around for a few days next week, though. Most of us will be responsible for the upcoming Fashion Week. It’s an international event and they need everyone to stand by. Famous people and all.”

“Good luck, Officer.”

“Yeah. I need that. Thanks.”

New D was silent for a moment before he opened his mouth. “My father once told me about you, in case you want to know.”

Chris looked up from his tea with a jerk. “What?”

“He said ‘Little Christopher and Mr. Detective are an exception’.” Ro growled and barked, as if disapproving the words, but New D shushed her. She didn’t stop for full three minutes before running into the back room. Chris could see that she was angry. “It’s actually a secret he asked me to keep, but I always fail to grasp the meaning in his words. Do you, by any chance, understand what he meant?”

Chris didn’t, and that was what he said. He felt bad when he saw New D’s crestfallen look, though, and realized that it was the first time he saw something other than strange smiles and concealed expressions on that porcelain face. _He was truly disappointed._

It reminded Chris, with a pang in his heart, to Count D’s various unguarded façades whenever he was with his older brother.

* * *

Dad showed up in Chris’ workplace two days after, after calling him a few hours earlier when he was still doing his shift. It cancelled the officer’s daily plan to end up in New D’s pet shop, but he didn’t mind. His father might be strict and a bit fearful at times, but Chris loved him all the same. If Leon was a role model of bravery and stubbornness and just _pure instinct_ , Dad was someone Chris would look up if thoughtfulness and precision and maturity were what he was searching for.

They went out for dinner and talked about light topics and that was when Dad decided to stay the night in Chris’ apartment.

“My house isn’t really neat. I’m not up for guests tonight,” Chris admitted as they were in his car, going home. “But I’ll do my best.”

Dad surprised him by laughing. Both knew it was his first laugh after Mom died. “You should’ve seen the house. Josephine hit the roof when she returned from her business trip.”

Chris chuckled. “I can imagine that.” Josie and Samantha’s neat freak attitude sometimes could be amusing.

“Boys will be boys,” Dad answered, and Chris could catch sadness in his voice when he quoted Mom’s usual remark. He knew immediately why his father wanted to stay; he was _lonely_. It touched his heart, and he knew better than driving him back to their family home. “Living out of takeouts and unused kitchen utensils, which are getting more and more few.”

They ended up in Chris’ apartment, like Dad wanted, and Chris laid a blanket on the floor as his makeshift bed for the night. It was around midnight when he realized that his father hadn’t slept, and braved himself to ask something he had never _uttered_ to anyone. Still, it had haunted him since Leon’s death, had been triggered by Mom’s, and finally returned to his mind with New D’s secret he shared with _his own_ father.

“Dad?” When his father hummed, a sign that he was listening, Chris continued. “Do you know my father? I mean… me and Leon’s father.” _I don’t even remember his name, only my mother’s. Nobody talks about him, even Mom. Even Josie, even though I’ve tried so hard to nag her. I don’t understand; why is that? Is he some kind of secret? Why didn’t he take care of me and Leon? Why there were no pics of him in Leon’s apartment? Where is he?_

There was a rustling sound and Dad’s head peeked on the edge of the bed. “Why the sudden question?”

Chris merely shrugged. “Just curious. Nobody ever tells me about him.”

“Laura never did?” He sighed when he saw Chris shaking his head at the mention of his mother’s name. “You deserve to know, but thank God she kept it to her deathbed.”

“That terrible, huh?” Chris tried to keep his tone light, despite his hammering heartbeat.

“Andrew was a piece of shit,” Dad snarled. Chris was surprised at the fact that it was the first time he heard his father curse. Dad was all good manners and strict rules and full names—it was always _Christopher Josephine Samantha Stanley Laura Leonard Andrew Caroline_ and all. Him cursing made Chris uncomfortable, for obvious reasons. “You’re lucky you don’t get to know him, Christopher.”

Fear clutched Chris. “What about big brother? Leon?”

Dad didn’t say anything for so long Chris thought he had fallen asleep. But finally he spoke again. “Leonard… uh, he wasn’t that lucky. Bad-mannered as he was, I’m glad he didn’t turn like his father. Guess Caroline taught him right before she died. What I’m trying to say is…” He paused for a moment. “You two are exceptions. Good ones. Thank God.”

Dad continued for some time. His words made Chris unable to sleep until the sun rose the following morning.

* * *

“If you can’t tell me where the Count is, can you please tell me how he was _to you_ when he’s still around?”

New D put down his teacup. “My father was… himself. We’re not really close. He went away when I was young and rarely returned. My great-grandfather— _his_ grandfather—is the one raising me, and when he deemed me old enough, he left the shop for me to take care of. Before you ask, Officer, I do not know _why_ my father left.”

“Please?” Chris fluttered his eyelashes in a way he knew would please Robyn. Maybe it would work on New D as well. He wondered how old his great-grandfather could be, if New D was an adult now, but that could wait. Maybe Chinese people lived a longer life than Americans? Maybe that great-granddad had died now? He made a mental note to ask about it later.

A sigh cut Chris’ reverie. “Why are you so adamant in knowing my father?”

“You know why. I want to know why he left, why he didn’t come to my brother’s funeral even though I know they were close, why my brother followed him to that building, and _why_ even though he is presumed dead he’s seen in several Chinatowns all over the world,” Chris rebutted, trying _so hard_ to keep gentleness in his tone. They would go nowhere if they started fighting. That happened to Leon and D, and look where they were now. “Please, D. I just want to know. I need answers.”

“You want to find a connection between yourself and this pet shop,” New D concluded. “Through me.”

Chris fluttered his eyelashes once more, not missing how faint blush colored New D’s cheeks. So _that_ worked for him too. Chris didn’t mind the fact that New D was a guy; he would do _anything_ to find out what he wanted. “Is there anything wrong with that? The best time of my childhood was in this place… I mean the Count’s place. Your father’s place, back in LA. Am I treating you so badly that you won’t even tell me about him?”

“So you’re doing this for your own sake.”

Now Chris understood why Leon and the Count were always at each other’s throats. He had been too small, and Count D was really nice towards him, but if he had been _this fucking exasperating_ … “Well, okay,” he said, as calmly as he could even though anger was bubbling in his entire being. “That’s fine if you don’t want to help. I’ll see myself out. Good evening.”

“Wait, Officer.”

Chris kept walking. He had to, before he decided to lash out in this place. To make things worse, Ro started barking next to New D’s usual seat, as if knowing his bad mood.

“ _Christopher_.”

 _That_ made him stop. Chris turned sharply, because the way New D said it was exactly the way the Count called him in his head, in the pet shop, back then when speech was hidden under the effects of Sam’s hurtful words. “Count?” he called, as if not knowing where he was. “Is that you?” Then adrenaline rushed inside him, making him frantic. “No way! It’s you, right? Count, please answer me! It’s me, Chris Orcot! Leon’s little brother!”

It wasn’t, of course. New D merely stared at him, in his violet eyes. Not mismatched, _never_ mismatched. The stare was identical, but Chris knew better. He leaned against the closest wall, bracing himself of something… magical. Unlike Leon, he’d spent his time in the pet shop, and believed that _unexplainable things_ happened in this place.

Whatever this D had stored in the shelf, Chris was ready to take it.

“You are starting to act like Leon,” New D said in a weird voice, as if someone had dubbed him in another version of English. The way he spoke Leon’s name was new, and Chris wasn’t ready for _that_. He was ready of hocus-pocus, of sudden appearance of the Count, of explanations and happy endings, but not this. Not the fondness in New D’s voice when Leon’s name rolled out his lips, not the slight frown— _“don’t you ever follow your brother’s footsteps if it comes to his insolence, Christopher.”_ —on his forehead.

“Count, is that you?”

“No.” As quick as it appeared, New D was already back to normal, his tone different with the earlier one. The frown disappeared and he was back to the cordial mode he used to the customers, but never at Chris. “I’m afraid it is not me that is the Count. I’m just tending to the shop at this moment. If I am able to, I shall attempt a contact to him and relay your message, if there is any. But I cannot promise you anything.”

Chris merely watched him, open-mouthed.

“However, Officer, there’s one more thing I need to tell you.”

It took Chris a minute to gather his voice. “What is it?”

“Be safe in the Fashion Week. Don’t have any regrets.”

“Oh.” Disappointment practically _ate_ Chris alive. “Thanks.”

* * *

A day before the Fashion Week, Chris woke up in the middle of the might. He didn’t know why, but he found himself wide awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling. It was clean, just like the rest of the rooms in his apartment. Unlike his brother, he didn’t need naked women to excite him, pictures or real-life. That was good, especially when people like Dad decided to do a spontaneous sleepover in his house.

For Chris, those posters and magazines he had found in Leon’s apartment were just… pictures of people. They couldn’t attract him that way, and he didn’t care either. Fascinating, yeah, but not _arousing_. It made him wonder how Leon would see him now. Maybe he wouldn’t be proud of him, since, as far as Chris knew, Leon was very good with women.

But tried with all his might, Chris couldn’t change himself. It took him numerous failed journeys to find the Count that he realized that he _wasn’t Leon_ and he would never be. All he had now was his brother’s shadow which he desperately tried to follow. That was why he ended up in police force, older than most rookies, but liked well enough to have the hearts of his colleagues and superiors. Maybe Leon would be proud of him for following (some of) his footsteps. That didn’t make sense, but that was the least he could come up to describe himself.

At the memory of Leon, he sat up, remembering the strangeness he had in his last visit to the pet shop.

 

 _Be safe in the Fashion Week_.

 

“What do you mean?” Chris muttered to himself. “Is something going to happen? Something’s gonna happen, right?”

 

_Don’t have any regrets._

 

The sentence echoing in his head made him jump down the bed. As he made his way towards the bookshelf, he steeled himself. If he was bound to have regrets, he wanted to make sure that it wasn’t this one. Chris grabbed Mom’s diary and brought it to his bed with every intention of reading it.

When he opened the book, a piece of paper fell from the pages. Chris opened it first and saw a familiar handwriting on it, written below the unfamiliar one. Recognizing the familiar handwriting as Mom’s, he decided to read that one first, and thus he discovered what had been buried for years.

As expected of the diary, it was a place where someone poured their secrets. However, Chris never _thought_ that it was this kind of secret. After he was done reading the letters, he returned to the book and was determined to read every single part of it, to reveal the truth to himself.

Despite that, he fell asleep before he reached the half of it. Chris swore the last thing he remembered before slumber took over him was a recognizable scent of incense.

* * *

 

New York Fashion Week was an unforgettable experience, according to Pam. Chris just saw it as pure nuisance, with all those people around the world and their extravagant clothes that demanded safety from his workplace. Thanks to this, Pam had given him a smack on the shoulder, which stopped him from making snide remarks about the event.

“Can you just shut up and enjoy the day?” she asked harshly, even though he could see amusement in her eyes.

Chris smiled half-heartedly at her, rubbing the poor shoulder, covered by a bulletproof vest and a tuxedo. They looked more like fashion enthusiasts than authorities, and that was what they intended. “Fine, fine. Whatever.”

“By the way, Robyn called me yesterday, asking about you.” She huffed. “I told her to fuck herself.”

“Pam, you don’t need to do that.”

“And what? You’re gonna let her screw you again? No way, Orcot, there’s no fucking way someone can bully my friends, and you’re one of them.”

“She’s not bullying me,” Chris replied desperately.

Pam merely rolled her eyes and left it at that. They continued to watch over the people that started to flood into the venue. Occasionally, Pam would nudge Chris and fawn about this fashion designer or that new release of the clothing line. They were lucky that they were assigned in the spot that made them able to see the important people and celebrities they needed to protect.

For the umpteenth time, Pam elbowed her partner. Chris had to swallow a groan of pain as he rubbed his waist. “Look, Chris! That’s Alexa Braxton! You should see her new summer designs! They’re just so _badass_!”

Chris sighed and let her ramble with all her might. After coordinating with their fellow officers, they could deem the place secure enough, and Chris could take some rest. Playing as one of the guests, he blended himself in the audiences, taking a seat at the farthest row from the stage where he could still watch people while resting his legs.

Braxton’s designs were displayed in the fourth turn. With Pam practically _squealing_ not far from him, Chris watched as the models walked out from the backstage. The theme was different than the floral ones from the designs presented before hers, and now he understood why Pam called it badass.

It was obvious that Braxton took soldier-related theme in her designs. _Patriotism_ , she called. Chris was totally blind when it came to what girls wear, and this was no different. They looked simple enough to be worn under the summer heat, but not as feminine as the earlier designs he had seen. Every single of her clothes presented gave a tough aura on them, as if to tell girls that they were able to look badass in summer. All in all, Chris liked them, but still unable to comprehend why it made Pam so ecstatic.

The last model wore a dark green dress, the simplest design from all that had been presented. As usual, she stopped at the edge of the catwalk and put her hands on her waists. However, this one had a different pose; she did put her hand on her waist, but the other was folded upwards in a manner of holding a glass of wine. She _did_ hold something.

Chris had to squint to see what was in her hand. Something resembled a small box with a circle… a button?

 

_A remote control._

 

 “STOP IT RIGHT THERE!” Ken yelled from the distance.

With a fake smile on her face, she pressed it.

* * *

**The whole building exploded.**

* * *

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

From the place where he was lying on his stomach, Chris couldn’t move. His first instinct was to do exactly that, especially when there were screams around him. He was a police officer, damn it! But whatever was on top of his legs was so… _so_ heavy. His eyes started to blur. _No, don’t!_ He had people to save! He couldn’t black out now! There are innocent lives needed to be taken outta this place!

But he couldn’t help it. He could smell a familiar scent nearby and he didn’t want to think whose blood it was. Suddenly, another part of the building fell upon his back, making him groan. More in surprise than pain; surprisingly enough, he didn’t feel much of it. That meant bad, _really_ bad, but for once, Chris didn’t care.

In the edge of passing out, Chris _swore_ he could hear a sweet voice floating nearby. _That_ was all he cared about, because he could recognize it even though his mind was too numb to come up with a name.

“Humans and their angry memories. What a selfish creature. Poor victims of a mere revenge. And who, may I ask, become the victims? This is why we despise humanity.”

_What?_

“But you… are different, my father always says. Orcot brothers are the reason why he chose to be what he is now. Just rest, and wait until he fetches you, Officer. He will come shortly.”

Before he could respond, noises were heard on Chris’ hearing. Frantic, urgent ones that he couldn’t reply. “There he is! He’s still alive! Take him to the ambulance! Quick, quick!”

Amidst the voices— _paramedics?_ —Chris could hear the one he’d been waiting for the most. “Hello, Christopher.”

The noises stopped.

Darkness took Chris away from that place.

He couldn’t be more thankful.


	4. Leonar(d) (Part I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are not peaceful memories.

**Detective,**

 

**What I loved most about us**

**was the way we could**

**lose ourselves**

**in each other**

**over and over**

**and still**

**never know the way.**

**You always felt like**

**a place I’d never been.**

**—Beau Taplin || _Maps—_**

* * *

 

When Chris reopened his eyes, he had expected a hospital room and a white ceiling and tubes and shouts of relief, but instead he found himself in a huge meadow. It was so real that he could smell the fresh scent of the air, feel the wind tickling his hair, and touch the warmth of the soil. Still, there was something tugging his heartstrings, and he knew he wasn’t supposed to be here.

“Am I dead?” he asked, to no one in particular. Nobody answered.

Chris stood and started to walk, no direction in mind. After a while of strolling, he could see a huge tree at the center of the meadow. It stopped him. Not because of how tall and intimidating that tree was, but because of someone sitting underneath it, his back facing the police officer. Even so, he could still recognize them. Hell, he would be able to recognize it even though it had been decades.

“Count! Count!”

D didn’t even twitch. Chris didn’t even _care_. He ran towards his former caretaker and, when he was close enough, grabbed his shoulder. Laughter bubbled from his mouth, and he realized he hadn’t felt this _joyful_ for a long time. “Count! It’s me, Chris! Leon’s brother! You remember me, right? I was in your pet shop for almost a year! Leon brought me there!”

It was when D reacted, but it wasn’t like what Chris expected. “What are you doing here, Christopher?” His tone was flat, as if he wasn’t interested at all and the question was just mere formality.

“I don’t know! There was a bomb in the Fashion Week and when I woke up, I’m here.” Chris bit his lip. “Count, I’m… dead, aren’t I?”

D smiled thinly. “Yes. But you’re not ready to go yet.”

“What? Why?” Realization dawned on Chris. “Count… does this mean you’re dead too?”

“How am I supposed to answer that?” A sour tone had taken over D’s words. “I am merely someone who is staying over.”

“New D, I mean your son, said—”

“My son has also told me a lot of things. I can see how close you two have become, and how he is actually quite… fond of you. What’s with Orcots and us, I would never know.” Sadness clouded his expression. “However, he made a bargain with me… one that I cannot resist. It was just so tempting, even more than the sweets I used to consume.”

“What kind of bargain?”

“He offered to take you here so you can help me. You are not supposed to be here, yet he was so stubborn to save you… bring you here… I am wondering how determined he was to get you to safety, and how deep this fondness is.”

“What can I help you with?”

D stood. Now that Chris was as tall as Leon, maybe even taller, he noticed how _small_ D was. No wonder Leon was always protective towards the Count, even though sometimes it was concealed with anger and annoyance. D could look so _frail_ , as if he were made of porcelain, ready to break at a harsh touch, despite the fact that he was much, much stronger than he looked like.

“Come with me, Christopher.”

Chris obliged, and let D take him to the other side of the tree. The sight that awaited him made him gasp.

There was a casket, made of glass. Inside it, laid no one other than Leon Orcot, looking no older than his last birthday.

* * *

“Please explain, Count,” Chris begged, sometime after he got over his shock. “ _Please_.”

“I am glad that you have better manners than your brother.” D attempted a smile, but it was obviously forced. He sat down next to the casket, and didn’t even look at Chris as he continued to speak. “Fine, I shall explain. This is also why you are here. I am guarding his body, so when his soul decides to return, he will be alright.”

“What do you mean? He died, right? He was in the exploded building, Aunt Jill told me, and he went there with you.” Chris stopped himself before the accusation could roll out his mouth. If D closed himself, he wouldn’t know what else to do. “Not like I blame you—”

“In the building…” D paused, quieting Chris immediately. He looked pained. “I managed to revive his body, but his soul has left. Even I failed to find where he has gone. A soulless body can be dangerous, so I take him here. As far as I know, this is the safest place. Not everyone dares to come here.”

“Because this is the place where people who are supposed to die take care of their business,” Chris said; his voice hollow. “I am not supposed to be here… does that mean I should’ve died right away?”

D took a while before answering, as if contemplating the question first. “Indeed. You have no more business to take care of.” D’s hand had found its way to the casket, fingers spread wide as if wanting to stroke Leon’s blond locks through the glass. It was when Chris realized that the Count must’ve abandoned his own body as well. “But your brother has, and you’re the only one who can call his soul, Christopher.”

“Why me?” Chris asked, returning to reality.

“Because you are the only one Detective has an unfinished business with.” A smile, the one that reminded Chris of his childhood in the pet shop, was back on the Count’s face. “Don’t have any regrets, since what you’re looking for is still there. Do those words remind you of something?”

At the words, Chris’ head reeled as if he were slapped, but understood quickly. He dug through his pocket, and found the diary. He had put it there before he left for his job, in case he could reread it during break. Then he sat down next to D, who nodded, the smile stayed. He could almost hear the words in his head.

 

_“You have better grasp of understanding than your brother, Christopher.”_

 

Chris returned the Count’s smile sadly, and opened the book.

“Leon, I’ve read your writings in the diary she gave me. It wasn’t hers, it never was. Never thought you’re a writer type of guy.”

* * *

_Little ~~fucker~~ brother, turns out you’re a boy after all. What’s gotten to Ma so that I have a brother when I’m almost eighteen? I hope ~~you burn in hell~~ you’re not gonna be such a nuisance._

_Ma told me to write something so I can get less angry. Like HOW THE HELL SHOULD THESE LETTERS HELP?! I ~~AM ANGRY AT EVERYTHING OK MY HEAD REALLY REALLY NEED TO SHUT UP GODDAMMIT~~ — _[the rest of the page was ripped]

_Shit, Pops’ home. Better not get to his bad side, esp with Ma’s vomiting like this. He’s never good when he’s home early. Whatever._

_Hate my part-time job. Money’s not good. ~~Babies are expensive.~~ Nobody’s home but Ma, and Pops’ in and outta the house now. He lost his job. Never a good sign. Should be home._

_HOW MANY TIMES I NEED TO TELL THAT SON OF A BITCH THAT THE BABY IN HIS BELLY IS HIS AND MA WOULD NEVER CHEAT ON HIM?!?!?!_

_Ma’s real class, but can be so such a dumbass. Why the fuck she’s staying with this bastard?! ~~Leave now!!~~_

_Pops hit the roof for no reason. Hit us. Not like I mind, but he laid his hand on Ma and my damn kid brother. It’s not that I like that baby, but he’s as innocent as Ma and I’d prefer die than knowing him harmed when I know I can stop it. I know this’s gonna happen sooner or later. ~~Ma should’ve done this earlier.~~_

_Packed whatever I can get my hands on, took my motorbike. Eye hurts, gonna bruise real bad. Write this in the motel. Hope we can get to move in a few hours._

* * *

Leon’s painful words brought Chris to the past that wasn’t his yet. Next to him, D was expressionless as he continued reading. They were no longer in the peaceful meadow, but sitting in a dark, dingy room. Their mother was sleeping on the only bed, and it was the only furniture in this place. The only source of light was from a dimly-lit lamp on the corner, placed on the floor. A short-haired Leon was there, writing in the diary Chris was holding now.

Chris stopped reading.

“How humans cling to the bad memories baffles me sometimes,” D commented out of the blue, but Chris was too busy examining his older brother’s face to respond.

Under the minimal light, Leon looked much younger. Save from the longer hair and the bruise on the side of his face, he looked exactly like Chris when he was in the end of high school. He looked tough and _fragile_ at the same time, giving off a _don’t-touch-me_ aura yet there was something that made Chris ached to pull him into a hug.

“I’ve never known.”

“Detective did a very well job in hiding his past from you, Christopher.” D’s voice was strained. “I guess I was mistaken. Your brother didn’t cling to the bad memories, or he wouldn’t be… like the one he was when I get to know him. It is either something has happened, or he, according to your human saying, ‘got over’ it. Then again, he sometimes can be a different kind of human.”

“Dad told me how… badly my father treated my mother and Leon, but—”

Chris’ speech was cut by a movement from the teenager before them. The image of Leon stood and pushed the diary into his pocket. He made his way towards the bed and stared at his— _their_ —mother before extended his hand to caress her sleeping face, a serene expression on his bruised face. Then he moved to her belly and placed his head on it.

“Fight, squirt, at least for your mother.”

At his words, Chris started to weep.

* * *

 

_LA’s ok. Took classes to make up for the ones in my old school. Lucky me for being a step away from graduation. Got two part-time jobs in the mall, money’s good. Looking for a cheap apartment to stay. Fuck, I’m so sleepy I won’t mind dozing in the alley._

_FINALLY got it!!! So fucking happy right now. Rent’s a bit above, but this one is better than the other one. Taking the best from the worst ~~for the baby~~. Now let’s hope Pops won’t get any idea we’re here._

_Ma gets a job as a seamstress. Damn, she makes great dresses with all those frillies for little girls around here. She loves the job. Makes me remember my children clothes she made. Told her not work too much. Guess she’s too headstrong to listen sometimes. ~~Baby shouldn’t be as stubborn as she or my life’ll be a living hell.~~_

* * *

Chris and D were now in an apartment. It was slightly bigger than where Leon lived, and definitely tidier. An old sewing machine stood proudly at a corner, and a sofa was placed nearby. If one looked at the pillow and blankets scattered on it, it wasn’t difficult to guess that it was Leon’s bed. Chris could see that the place only had one bedroom, and he didn’t need to ask to know who occupied it.

“Leon!”

The owner of the name emerged from the bathroom next to the small kitchen, bare-chested, his now longer hair mussed and wet from the shower. Chris noticed how the Count stared at him a bit longer than he usually did. Before he could ask, Leon had rushed into the bedroom and left the door open, giving them access to see clearly.

“What’s this?” Ma waved a piece of paper in front of Leon, who looked like he was going to laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re taking another job!”

Leon grinned.

“ _Leonard!_ ”

Chris had to fight the urge to smile himself, too, because Ma’s expression reminded him to the exasperated one on the Count’s face when Chris was still in his care. It seemed like Leon had a knack to frustrate people. Eventually he lost and let the amusement got better of him. If D saw his grin, he didn’t comment.

“Ma, put your shit together, please,” Leon explain. D blushed and opened his mouth as if wanting to reprimand him for the language before closing it again, realizing that they were practically invisible. “Remember that I wanna be a cop? The guy I’m gonna work with is one, and he has this bar where I can work in. Maybe he can help me. Showing me the ropes and how to get in and all. C’mon, Ma, it’s not even for every night. Just on the weekends.”

“Language!” she scolded, and Chris could see that it was D’s turn to smirk. Leon merely rolled his eyes and let Ma continue. “This is not necessary, Leon! Those two jobs in the mall and now _this_? When are you gonna sleep?! Remember, you still have classes left before you can get your high school diploma. It’s not like we’re _that_ desperate for money!”

Leon surprised all of them by placing a peck on Ma’s cheek. “Easy, Ma. The brat’s still in your belly. Don’t make him freak out before he’s out to this world and see its greatness.”

Ma pinched Leon’s mouth, making him squeak in pain. “Next time you call your brother that, I’ll wash your mouth with soap.” She sighed, and the playful mood changed instantly. “Promise me, Leon, you’ll quit if you feel it’s too much. I can still work, as long as they keep coming so I can make them clothes. I just don’t want you to drop out high school. Running—I mean moving out is bad enough for your education.”

“Me too, Ma.” Leon winked at her. “LAPD only accepts high school diploma the least. I’ll find out more if I work for this guy.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” She smiled warmly at him. “C’mere, big boy.”

Chris watched as his brother stepped into their mother’s arms, and his insides flared with jealousy. He looked down and decided to read more.

* * *

_Ma wanted to name the squirt Christopher, like her grandfather. Never knew the guy, but I guess he’s nice, or she wouldn’t have used his name. Whatever. Good thing is I can choose his middle name. don’t want him to end up with crappy name like mine. Ma wants a rare name. Unusual, she said. Where the fuck can I find that kind of name?!_

_Terrence comes from her. Pops gave me the name Leonard. sounds like a nerd. I hate it. ~~I hate everything ‘bout Pops.~~ At least Leon sounds cool._

_ NAMES: _

_~~Adam Vincent Tommy~~ _

_~~Joseph James Frank~~ _

_~~Paul Matthew Edward~~ _

_~~Julian Bartholomew Henry~~ _

_~~Roger John Devon~~ _

_~~Benedict Michael William~~ _

_**~~  
~~ ** _

_Ma finally came up with a name. After I tried so hard to find one myself, but at least she won’t be such a fuss about it anymore. She did ask if I like it. Well, K-E-L-S-E-Y sounds nice, not as crappy/highmighty as Terrence. It means victory ship, she said. Who knows what kind of ship, but ok._

* * *

Chris touched the page with a smile on his face. “So that’s how they named me.” It felt amazing, to know more and more about yourself. He sighed; if only he’d read it sooner—

“In some way, you’re their victory, Christopher,” D stated from next to him, cutting his thoughts. They were back in the meadow, staring at Leon’s closed eyes inside the glass casket. He looked so peaceful Chris was tempted to leave him there, even though he knew it was impossible. “You’re the reason they ran away, and it was enough victory.”

Chris hadn’t thought about it like that. It made him very happy, knowing that he had done something good for his nuclear family, even though he hadn’t known that. He had grown up thinking about the day he was born and how _bad_ he was to his mother, but apparently he wasn’t that bad. His smile widened and he felt strangely happy.

“Your mother stayed with your father, all those years, for the detective’s sake,” D continued. “But she left for yours.”

The words made Chris frown, the happiness disappeared. He turned the page and read Leon’s next entry. “Count, how do you know that?”

D merely stared at him, a mysterious glint in his mismatched eyes.

“Count, _please_! How?!”

“Just read the next one, Christopher.”

Knowing that he wouldn’t get his answers unless he obliged, he did. It wasn’t only Leon’s writing that was there. His brother had glued a letter on the bottom of the page, but making it foldable so only a corner of the paper that was stuck to the book. At the other side of the pages, there was a small, old photo of Leon that made Chris’ heart ache.

The photo was taken from Leon’s back, but Chris could see that he was carrying a baby in his arms, hoisted the little body on his shoulder. He looked like he was going to cry and laugh at the same time. Baby Chris was small, his eyes were closed, but overall he looked content in his brother’s arms. Under it was Mom’s—Aunt Laura’s—handwriting. 

**Look who’s a big brother now? Congrats, Leon!**

Chris continued reading with hoarse voice and eyes blurry with tears.

* * *

 

_~~Brat~~ Chris’s gonna born in a few weeks. Ma asked me to call Aunt Laura, since she’s the only one she has. Wonder why she asked me to do that now, after all these years she rejected her and Uncle Stan. ~~I don’t wanna think ‘bout failed pregnancy.~~ Well, ok._

_Aunt Laura came as soon as possible. Real quick. Shut her mouth about our whereabouts. Only Uncle Stan knows, but I’m not worried. He hates Pops just like I do. Maybe even more. Thank God._

_Fuck, I’m worried. Doc didn’t let me in, but Aunt Laura didn’t look good when she was out the examination room. I had to interrogate her. She said Ma had a difficult pregnancy, and there was this… possibility that she’ll ~~die~~ be hospitalized longer. ~~NO FUCKING WAY SHE’LL DIE SHE’S STRONG AS HELL~~_

* * *

 

Dear Christopher Kelsey Orcot,

Hello, my darling son.

I’m sorry that things have to go this way, but if you’re reading this letter, that means you’re already an adult and I am no longer in this world. I hope you can forgive me. 

I’m your mother. You might not know me, or only from stories, but that’s okay. If you, by any chance, are looking for me, just think that I’m now with the angels and you’ve put me there. It’s a good thing, so you should be happy wherever you are.

You have a brother, and most probably he’s the one giving you this letter. His name is Leonard, but he hates that name, so just call him Leon. Maybe you already have when you read this. He is headstrong, but very affectionate and obviously loves you, even though sometimes it’s hard to see, especially when he is in his bad moods. He’ll take care of you, and when you’re old enough, you’ll take care of him.

In this letter, I want to thank you. I know you’ll think that you’re just a baby when all this happens, but you saved the two of us. Leon’s too stubborn to admit it, but he knows this as well. You gave us the courage to break free, to find a better way to live. We did that so you can be saved, and so Leon will have a better future ~~and I’ll stop feeling like a failed mother.~~ _don’t read this crap, Chris, Ma was one hell of a mom_

I won’t lie to you, Chris. Your father is not the best example of how a parent should be. He was a mistake, I’ll tell you that. I stayed for years because I had nowhere else to go, and that Leon needs him. It was a toxic life, but I managed. Little Leonard grew as nicely as possible, and even though it wasn’t easy, I could keep him away from ~~his~~ your father’s rage for years.

The only good thing that I got from the marriage is Leon and you. My two beautiful sons. Yes, you too, Chris, even though I haven’t seen you yet. I know you’ll be a wonderful person, and when you’re reading this letter, you’ll be reminded of that.

You might have noticed that Leon is much older than you. Eighteen years, in fact. You were conceived when he was in his last year of high school. But don’t, in any second of your life, think that you’re an accident. You might be born under difficult circumstances, but you are neither an accident nor a burden for us. Plus, isn’t it cool to have such an older brother?

Chris, for all its worth, live your life. Be brave, be determined, be fair, be moral, be loveable, just like your brother is. I’m sorry that I’m unable to accompany you in your living years, but believe me that I’ll always watch you from my place with the angels, and someday we shall reunite. This is the least that I can ask of you.

 

Forever love,

Your mother, Caroline Margaret ~~Orcot~~ _Huntley_

* * *

They found themselves in the hospital now. Mom—Aunt Laura, it was hard to refer to her as Mom, now that Chris was in Leon’s past life—was nowhere in sight. There was only Leon, sitting on an uncomfortable plastic chair, waiting. His face was ashen and it was obvious that he hadn’t slept for a long time. It was when Chris knew, with a pang in his heart, that it was his birthday.

The day his mother died.

D moved before Chris, and sat next to Leon. His face was equally anguished as Leon’s, as if sympathized with his pain. To Chris’ surprise, the Count reached for Leon’s shaking hand and grabbed it tightly. “Births are a difficult event,” he spoke out, to no one in particular. Maybe to Chris, even though he was facing Leon as he said it.

Leon flinched and looked at his hand, as though feeling the gesture. It was obvious that he couldn’t see D, but, strangely enough, he could feel him. As a response, Leon put his other hand on the top of the one held by the Count, and from Chris’ point of view they looked like they were holding hands and comforting each other.

“My dear detective,” D whispered. He turned to Chris, even though his hand didn’t let go. He didn’t look as surprised as Chris was. “Christopher. There are several times when I reached out for his soul and I _think_ I could… find him. This is one of them.”

Chris tried to put two and two together. “Leon… big brother was really stressed,” he concluded eventually. “He needed help.”

“Yes,” D agreed. Chris saw him squeezing Leon’s hand more tightly. A small, tired smile appeared on Leon’s face as he squeezed back. “Detective has bared his soul on this day, but it still wasn’t enough to reach him and bring him back to his body. This is one of the times when he felt so… hopeless. Abusive father, being a runaway, struggling with what is left of his education, and now his mother is going to die. The only person he loved. In his desperation, he opened himself for me, but it still wasn’t enough.”

“Count—”

As if realizing his mistake, D looked apologetic. “It is never your fault, Christopher. Just like births, deaths are something we cannot avoid. Unless there is violence and murder, a death is no one’s fault. Your mother’s is one of them.”

“ _THEN WHOSE FAULT IS IT?!_ ” Chris exploded. “I know better than to begrudge Sam for what she said when we were kids, Count, but she had a point! If it weren’t for me—”

“If it weren’t for you, Detective would’ve _died_ ,” D cut in. Despite his calm remark, he looked like he was going to lash out, which was shocking. He never did that to Chris; only to his brother when they were fighting. “He would’ve died in the hands of your father, and your mother would’ve spent years mourning in a mental institution, thinking why she didn’t take him away when she still could. Would you like to see that happening before your eyes, Christopher?”

A butterfly suddenly flew across Chris’ eyes, returning him to reality. He gasped and tried to swat it away reflexively, but it was gone before he could do anything.

“Remember, Christopher,” the Count continued, and Chris saw the butterfly landed on Leon’s joined hand for a while before it suddenly vanished to thin air. “Do not dwell in ridiculous wishes.”

Chris nodded tearfully and sat down a few chairs away from D and Leon. He was busy with his own thoughts he almost didn’t hear when the door was being opened. When he looked up, D had released Leon’s hand and Leon himself had risen to his feet. Chris stood as well, even though his legs were shaky because he _knew damn well what happened_.

“Aunt Laura!” Leon exclaimed, to the familiar figure standing on the doorway. “How’s Ma? Is she okay?”

“Leon, she’s asking for you. C’mon, get in!” she said, even though it sounded more like an order. The panic in her voice was unmistakable. Chris’ eyes widened, for _the time has come_.

With lightning speed, Leon did, followed by Chris. Ma was on the bed, looking really bad. Chris felt his heart ache and he started to weep. Leon, however, tried not to, even though, Chris was sure, he had an inkling of what was going to happen. The scratched words in his diary were enough confirmation. Despite that, his brother looked as calm as possible as he approached their mother’s bedside, taking her hand.

“Ma!”

“I… bet… he’s beautiful,” Ma croaked out. “L-Leon, p-promise me…”

“Dammit, yes, Ma! I’ll take care of him, change his diapers, and do every single fucking thing you tell me to! Just hang on! Stay strong, so you can see him! His name’s Christopher Kelsey, right? He’s your victory, Ma! Dammit, Ma! Open your eyes!”

Ma smiled warmly and obliged. “You’ve… loved y-your brother.”

Leon looked like he was going to cry and curse the air at the same time. “I was angry, but I know better. He doesn’t have anything to do with this. So, Ma, fuck, _please_ —”

“I’m s-sorry, b-big boy,” Ma croaked out, and Chris cried even harder. Somehow, this also reminded him of Aunt Laura’s—Mom’s—death, even though now she was standing next to him, looking perfectly healthy. It made him felt twice as pained. “Take… take care of Chris. Promise m-me. T-take good care.”

“Okay, Ma, of course,” Leon choked the words, but then he began to babble. He tried to return Ma’s smile despite his teary eyes. It was obvious that he was clinging to the hope that Ma could be treated and all would be well. Forever optimist. “Chris will have the best older brother in this world. Cool, big bro, a cop. LAPD. Detective Leonard Terrence Orcot. Cool, right? You two will be so damn proud of me. I promise, Ma, I promise.”

“I know I will, Leon, I k-know.” The smile stayed on Ma’s face as life slipped out from her.

Leon cried out like a wounded animal.

* * *

Chris was bawling so hard he didn’t realize that he and D had already returned to the meadow. He had never seen his brother like that, and it felt as if a spear had stabbed his heart and he was left to die. His mouth acted by itself as he kept muttering apologies. To whom, he wouldn’t know. Leon, most probably, for taking away his most beloved person. To Ma, perhaps, for being the reason she could no longer see her son realizing his dream of being a cop. To Aunt Laura and Uncle Stan, too, for becoming a burden in the form of another child to feed. Even to Sam and Josie, for causing… _disturbance_ in their perfect family of two daughters, for causing bad thoughts about orphans and mothers dying in childbirth to come into their minds.

D let him. When Chris finally realized his surroundings, he could see that D had tears running down his expressionless face. Unlike Chris, who had sat down on the ground—when, he didn’t know—the Count stayed on his feet, even though he looked like he was going to fall over anytime soon. Chris watched as D put a shaking hand on the casket.

“Where are you, Detective?” he called, his voice small. “Are you giving up? This is so not like you.”

Chris stood and braved himself to circle his arm around the Count. It felt awkward and he felt D flinch, but didn’t move away. Well, that was an okay sign, at least. “We’ll find him,” he said, more determined than anything in his life. “I promise. Please depend on me.”

“Just keep reading, Christopher.”

Releasing the Count, Chris picked the book from the ground and reopened it. That was when he realized Leon’s smile was forced and tired as he held the baby in his arms. Unable to stand the sight, he hurriedly turned the page and revealed some torn papers and smudged words. The writings in it were not really readable, as if Leon wrote it in a fit of rage.

It was seven pages later that Chris was able to find something he could read. So he did.

* * *

 

_Chris is a silent boy. Rarely cries and all. ~~Unlike me when I was his age, Ma once said. She called me her little lion, roaring every single time.~~ When I have classes and job, Benson next door will take care of him. Thank God for nice neighbors. ~~We didn’t have any back there.~~ Ma made baby clothes and blankets for him, so I don’t need to buy much. She also made me a very nice shirt. Good. I’ll wear it on my first day as a cop. ~~If I make it, that is.~~_  
  
_Quit one of my jobs in the mall and changed my bar shift to the afternoons. Money’s not as good anymore, but someone needs to watch over Chris at night. Plus, I can study more. Finals are nearing. Silver linings._

* * *

Right after the last word left his mouth, Chris and D were back in the apartment, this time it was already nighttime. The place felt emptier, messier, and sadder, with Ma no longer there. As expected, there were several obvious changes. For instance, there was an old cradle, placed near the window, not far from the single bed. Chris saw a sleeping baby in it, looking really peaceful under the dim light of the room.

Despite the mess in the bedroom, the baby corner was neat. Small toys, clothes, a pacifier, bottles, a box of milk, and diapers were arranged neatly on a table next to the cradle. Chris slowly went towards the cradle, and finally had a good look of himself when he was still less than a year old.

Leon had put a plush toy—a sheep, which reminded Chris of T-chan and Shaun the Sheep at the same time—next to his head. It was obviously old, maybe belonged to him when he was a kid himself. The blanket was clean and looked brand new. Chris unconsciously touched it, careful enough not to wake the baby despite the fact that he couldn’t be seen.

The blanket was so _soft_ it made him choke on his tears. Ma made this. Ma made _this_. Ma made _this_ for _him_. He had no idea at all—

His thoughts were cut when he heard the door being opened. He turned and saw Leon, tied hair messy and fatigue clear on his face, walking inside. Chris watched as his brother, now around nineteen, threw his bag onto the floor and pulled off his headphones from his ear. Despite that, Chris could still hear the rock music from the device.

Leon hummed the rest of the song softly and turned off his Walkman. “Hi there, squirt. Old Benson has to leave early tomorrow, so here I am. Taking care of you.” A flash of sadness crossed his face and Chris bit his lip, feeling guilty for some reason. “I have to study, so shut up, okay?”

“Language, Detective!” the Count blurted out before he could stop himself. It made Chris giggle, despite the situation.

Of course Leon couldn’t hear him. He made his way towards the desk at the other side of the room, next to a small cupboard. Turning on the table lamp, he pulled out his books from another bag placed nearby and began to study. Chris glanced at the clock, and was surprised to see that it was past midnight. He went towards the desk, and saw how _determined_ Leon was to get his diploma. His brother didn’t even look tired as he kept making notes and skim through the pages, even though Chris was certain that he was.

As his brother studied, Chris looked around the house. The first things he noticed from the living room was that the sofa was bare from any blankets and the sewing machine was nowhere in sight. He also could smell a faint scent of tobacco, as if Leon hadn’t smoked in this house for a while. It made him wonder, when did Leon start to smoke? Chris himself didn’t smoke and wasn’t intending to. It wasn’t, along with indifference towards sex, Leon’s image he walked in.

Suddenly the sound of baby’s cries tore the silence in the house, followed by Leon’s string of curses and D’s constant, equally long, reprimand. Nostalgia hit Chris because it sounded exactly like a _pet’s cry of attention and Leon’s bad mood and the Count’s struggle to keep the pet shop intact_ —

Chris saw, through the slightly ajar door, Leon muttering the bad words and D standing next to him, shouting his throat raw about using proper language in front of a baby. He decided to walk in through the door and watched as Leon made his way towards the cradle and lifted the baby into his arms.

The curses had stopped and D was silenced at the image. “How many times I see this, Christopher,” he muttered, face still flushed at his earlier annoyance. “I will always be touched. Your brother could’ve placed you in your aunt’s hands right away, but he didn’t. It is something I have never expected from him.”

“‘Exceptions’.” Chris’ voice sounded hollow, as he was busy watching his brother. “You called Leon and I exceptions.”

“Because you are. Both of you.”

Leon checked the baby’s diapers, frowning. He also tried milk, from the bottle prepared on the table, but was rejected by loud cries. Knowing that there was nothing wrong, he chuckled. “You just wanna scream your ass off and let me flunk my tests, hm?” The words lacked malice and Chris smiled tearfully at the younger version of his brother. “Let’s take care of you first. That’s what Ma wanted, after all.”

And then he began to sing.

Chris didn’t know the song, but the tears came anyway. Leon was obviously exhausted, his voice slightly hoarse and there were bags under his eyes, but Chris had never seen something as beautiful as the image before him. 

* * *

“Count, how can I not remember my earlier days with Leon?”

They were back in the meadow after Leon finished his song and baby Chris was back to sleep. Chris watched his brother’s sleeping form in the casket and put his hand on the glass as well, trying to touch his face. Maybe that way he would wake up. D stood next to him, this time keeping his hands to himself.

“I don’t know. I haven’t finished reading his diary.”

Chris turned sharply at him. His remark reminded him of something. “How do you know all this, Count?” he asked, with the tone he used to interrogate possible culprits. “And why are you here? Please, please tell me. I never, _ever_ want to think that you are involved in big brother’s death, so please just tell me. _Please_ tell me that my bad… conscience is wrong.”

A small smile appeared on D’s lips. “I accidentally found the diary when we came to the detective’s apartment, and I slipped it to your sister’s pocket when they came to take you home. So, in order to answer your question, I have read most of it.” He paused. “About your brother’s death… I shall be honest with you, Christopher. It was my father’s doing, but he was also killed in the explosion, so there is no use of hunting him down.”

“W-what did he do?”

“He tried to test your brother by giving him to his pets. And before you ask, his pets were nothing like mine. They were ferocious monsters.” Chris slid to the ground, legs no longer able to keep him up. The image of Leon being ripped apart by beasts was too much to handle. Meanwhile, D continued as if nothing happened. “He… Leon managed to survive, even killed my father to protect humanity. He would fight for human beings until his last breath. But what I didn’t expect was that my father had…”

“A bomb?” Chris supplied.

“You can say that. I was there in… the last minute and tried to save him.”


	5. Leonar(d) (Part II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is D's turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU for the chapter Deep and D (the last one in the manga).

Chris didn’t recognize the building he suddenly found himself in. Then again, he wasn’t too familiar with LA, only spending a short—yet happy—time in the city. Judging from his surroundings, it was some kind of a laboratory, with advanced technologies and such that he had ever seen in sci-fi movies.

And there was an explosion.

It reminded Chris so much with the one happened in the Fashion Week—damn, it felt so long ago—that he ducked instinctively, pulling D together with him. “Get down, Count!” he yelled, and stayed that way even though he had finally realized that this wasn’t real.

“GET DOWN, OLD MAN!”

It was the voice Chris missed the most in his life. Not far from him, Leon sat on the floor. He was heavily bandaged and despite that blood was still streaming freely from his body. Chris didn’t need long to recognize that he was bleeding too much. He needed to be taken to the hospital if he didn’t want to die of blood loss.

The ‘old man’ Leon referred to stood a few meters ahead of them. Chris was able to catch a glimpse of him before the flames ate him alive. Horrified, he lied still on the floor and saw the flames spreading nearer and nearer. “Leon! Leon!” he cried out, jumping to his feet. “Leon! Leon! Where are you?!”

As if to answer his frantic calls, Leon’s voice suddenly rang in his ears. “Make it quick, will ‘ya?” He sounded tired, as if no longer caring about anything. “I’m done for anyway. Either from blood loss or the fire—”

Chris watched as the image of the Count pulled Leon to his feet. “This is so unlike you, Detective. Don’t tell me you’re giving up now,” he muttered, breathing heavily as he half-dragged Leon on the floor. “Weren’t you brimming with anger just now?”

“I s-shot your f-father,” Leon managed to say. His head was bleeding so badly the blood kept his eyes from opening properly. “A-and your k-kind was killed… by a human.”

“Even if the world’s forests turn to deserts, and the oceans freeze over, until the last human falls,” D said, circling Leon’s arm on his shoulders and brought him climbing a lot of staircases—where did that come from?—while Leon’s blood staining their path. “Our vengeance will not be complete.”

“E-enough.” Chris’ heart _shattered_ when he saw his brother fell on his knees at the middle of the staircase. “Just go.”

D didn’t. Chris glanced at the Count next to him, but he was busy staring at his own past self. They were silent as Leon was taken to the edge of the building. As expected of him, Leon started to freak out.

“Where are we?! Dammit, D, I have no interest of dying with you!” Strangely enough, he no longer stuttered. Maybe the panic did that for him, or the struggle to make his message clear. “Let me go, D!”

“This is my biggest mistake,” the Count suddenly spoke up next to Chris. “If only I were not that… _lenient_ towards Detective.”

The past D didn’t falter, but Leon was visibly scared shitless. Chris had never seen him that… frightened. He kept screaming for the Count to let him go, to release him so he could go back, to _just go_ save himself from the flames, to let him die in the burning building because _it’s much, much better than dying because of a **fatal fall**_ —

“I’m not coming with you! No fucking way!”

And then it happened.

The Count repeated his words, and he sounded shaken. “I shouldn’t have been so _indulgent_ …”

Chris had known that his brother was strong, but _not_ this strong. And he always knew _D_ was much stronger; he had that air of strength within him, and the way he handled things in the pet shop weren’t something to be taken lightly.

But, at that very second, the tables were reversed.

Leon, with the last drop of his power, snapped his arm out from D’s grip and pushed _him_ down the building. However, D managed to re-grab Leon’s ankle and took him down together as well.

Out of the blue, Chris found himself falling too, headfirst together with D and his past self. But when he managed to glance at the building, he could see an almost transparent Leon, still standing there, his face ashen and filled with so much fear it scared Chris as well.

“LEON!”

Whatever left from the building exploded, and it was over.

* * *

“I brought an empty vessel down with me,” D said, and it was the first thing Chris heard. He landed softly on the grass, not far from where Leon’s glass casket was placed. He rushed back towards his brother’s side almost immediately, and was totally disappointed when he saw Leon didn’t even move an inch. “His soul rejected me, and now he is lost. I possess his body, but never his heart. To make long story short, I killed him.”

“No, Count!” Chris protested, sounding childlike. “You wanted to save him! It’s not your fault he did what he did!”

D contemplated it for a moment, before sighed. “Thank you, Christopher. I have to admit that I have a… soft spot towards your brother. I would feel no remorse if it’s another human being, but he… and you… are different. I might have powers, but I gave the detective too much freedom in his hands. He was able to choose between following me and taking his own path. I should’ve been stronger back there.”

“You don’t want to give up on him.” It wasn’t a question. Still, Chris continued as if he were talking to himself. “Just like big brother never wanted to give up on you. He always spoke about spying on you, getting you behind bars, even asking me for help. When I was in your care, Count, sometimes I couldn’t help but to think… that you two are actually similar.”

 _Fights can be someone’s defense mechanism sometimes_. Josie’s voice rang in Chris’ head, and that was when he realized how _true_ that was. It also brought down another realization.

“Count?”

“What is it, Christopher?”

“Why don’t you give up on him?”

D looked at him, surprise etched in his expression, and the scene changed. The surprise didn’t fade even though they were no longer in the meadow. Chris wondered why, though, it was just a simple question.

* * *

The pub wasn’t crowded, and it was easy to spot Leon at a corner. But Chris could see that his brother was blind to the world, for he was heavily drunk. He had his head plastered on the table, his shaky hand holding the empty glass. “Hey, Tony! Gimme more!” he demanded.

Tony, the bartender, sighed. “Who would’ve guessed, Orcot?”

“Shut up!” Leon looked up and Chris could see his bloodshot eyes. “I need to unwind!” He eyed the glass with satisfaction as Tony refilled it up. “Hey, remember that I used to work here?”

“Of course. You fought on the first week.”

Leon laughed out loud. “Sorry for that. You guys need someone to kick those asses out this place.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, man,” Tony replied dryly and turned his head to the side. “Look, your friend’s here.”

Chris’ eyes widened when he saw the past Count D walked into the bar, his forehead wrinkled in disgust. Leon needed longer time to recognize him, and gasped when he did. “What the hell are you doing here, D?” he asked, grinning as if he had no care of this world.

“I was passing through and saw you inside,” the Count replied easily and sat next to him. He watched the glass with disdain and rose. “But it seems like you’re enjoying yourself thoroughly here. I’ll leave you, then.”

Leon caught his arm. “You… you come in here, b-better stay,” he slurred.

To Chris’ surprise, D obliged and sat down again, his eyes looking apologetic. “Is there anything you want to say?”

“I’m still… still angry at you, y’know.”

“Detective, please be reasonable.” D eyed him, looking even more miserable than before. “You do know Christopher cannot stay in the pet shop forever.”

“Shut up.”

“This happened after I left?” Chris asked the present-life D, who still looked confused and surprised. “Count?”

“Yes,” D breathed, as if unable to take his eyes off the scene before them. “I didn’t conjure this memory… so how can we in here now?” he continued, voice as quiet as a whisper. “Unless… but it’s impossible…”

Chris couldn’t answer that either, so he didn’t and let the Count finish his own thoughts. Instead, he refocused himself to the past. D was hauling Leon, who didn’t seem to resist, to his feet, saying something like ‘we need to get you home now’. The bartender merely rolled his eyes at them as they left the place.

It took a long time for D to get Leon back into his apartment. When he finally did, he pushed Leon onto the nearest couch and began to fuss over him. “Seriously, Detective, I shall not be held responsible if you wake up tomorrow with a terrible hangover. What is so good in getting yourself intoxicated, anyway?”

Leon merely eyed him with bleary eyes. “D… sit down, will ‘ya?” he eventually opened his mouth. “My head hurts.”

“You deserve that,” D mumbled, irritated, but sat down nonetheless. “Where is that medicine that you have stashed? This place is such a monstrosity…”

“Shut up, D, for once.” Chris was surprised to hear the sudden plea in Leon’s words. “Please. Just sit down and shut up.”

“What a nice proposition,” D replied dryly. Despite his remark, he did what he was told. That attitude stayed for a few minutes before he spoke up again, rising to his feet. “You should change, and take a long night sleep. I should leave, then. See you to—Detective?”

Leon had grabbed his hand and it didn’t seem like he was going to let go. “Stay.” It was the only word he said.

“I didn’t know why I obeyed, and I still do,” present-life D said from next to Chris. They watched as D from the past sat back down, Leon’s fingers still wrapped around his thin wrist. “But that’s how your brother was. In some ways, he can be quite… fascinating.”

“If you insist that I stay here, at least say something.” D’s harsh voice broke the silence. Maybe it was around twenty minutes after Leon asked him to stay, and his grip was still steely. The tone turned slightly gentler. “There must be another reason why you went out drinking earlier. Did something happen?”

Leon let out a sigh. He looked more sober than before. “I remember Chris’ drawing. Do you think it’s a beautiful drawing?”

D was taken aback; the expression on his face was evident. “I think so, Detective. Why did you ask?”

“Who are in it? Me, you, that sheep-tiger… uh, a girl? He likes her?”

“I think so, yes. They are inseparable.”

Chris couldn’t help but to smile a little. He missed Pon-chan and T-chan. He would never understand when they went… missing on his last day in the pet shop, replaced by a raccoon and a strange-looking animal, according to the Count. If he had the chance to see them again, asking them about that day would be on his top priority.

“Mm… I love that drawing… looks good… like a family…” Sudden rage took over Leon’s entire being and he glared murderously at D. “AND YOU FUCKING DARE TO TAKE THAT AWAY FROM ME! I THOUGHT YOU’RE MY FRIEND, D, WHAT THE HELL?!”

Perhaps out of sheer habit, D didn’t budge. He never did whenever Leon screamed at him. Chris shuddered at the stoic expression the Count wore in front of his brother. “What are you saying, Detective? That we all look like one happy family for you?”

Leon looked like he was going to explode, and he did. “YES, DAMMIT! I’VE BEEN WANTING TO BE WITH HIM AND YOU FOR ALL THIS TIME AND THIS PAST YEAR HAS BEEN WONDERFUL AND WE COULD’VE BEEN A FAMILY YOU HAVE THE FUCKING NERVE TO—”

D shut him up by pushing him down the couch and hovered on top of him. “Detective,” he asked, and Chris was surprised to see a mischievous glint in his mismatched eyes. “Aren’t you the one who will never give up?”

Wide eyed, Leon stared at the Count. “What’s your damn point, D?”

“Keep that faith of yours,” D said, his voice dropped into a whisper. With a start, Chris realized what type of tone that was. The Count sounded so much like Robyn if she was already on the bed and eyed Chris as if he were the best thing in the world. “And maybe, in the end, we shall reunite as a family.”

When their lips met, Chris looked away, overwhelmed by the image and his own thoughts. Next to him, present-life D was seething for some reason and looked like he wanted to cover Chris’ eyes. “Heavens, Leon!” he suddenly cursed the air, sounding desperate. “If you’re the one conjuring this memory, _do you think Chris wants to see more of it_?!”

The memory stopped abruptly…

“What—”

…and changed.

Leon was now sleeping. D sat next to him on the bed, stroking his bare shoulder with something akin to gentleness. It was nighttime, but obviously on a different day, judging from the different cheongsam the Count was wearing.

Chris turned and saw the present-life D covering his face with his hand. “Count?” he called, confused.

“So… he was awake after all,” D murmured, more to himself than to the NYPD officer standing next to him. He sounded embarrassed, and Chris soon found out why. “This is _his_ memory, Christopher, not mine.” But then a smile crossed his lips. “This is a good sign. He’s responding to us, wherever he is now.”

Chris was too caught up to speak, but he managed a nod.

D in the past continued to stroke Leon’s exposed skin as he spoke in a low voice. He talked about a lot of things: the pets, pastries Leon had given him, humanity, his awful customers, new ice cream parlor at one side of Chinatown; basically _everything_ he could come up with.

As time went, the one-sided conversation turned more and more serious. D babbled about Chris, too; how his pets missed him, how _he_ missed him, and how he understood Leon’s wrath for separating the brothers. He apologized for that, which made Chris smile.

“I chose to leave, Count,” he said. “Don’t beat yourself up for it.”

Present-life D looked up from his hand. Blush was slightly obvious on his cheeks, but he looked more composed than before. “I know. But your brother didn’t. He never mentioned this to me, but I remember this day. He never brought up this topic again. I should have known…”

Finally, the sun rose outside the apartment, its light flooded through the curtains. D hurriedly stood and left the room. Chris didn’t tear his eyes off Leon’s face, which had a smile growing on his lips.

* * *

The memory stopped and they found themselves back in the meadow. Chris looked at D, who was standing ramrod straight, but there was no mistaking the embarrassment in his expression. “Did you return to big bro’s house, Count, and speak to him like that more than once?”

D turned at him and stared as if he had never seen him before. After a while, he answered with a slight nod. It clicked.

“You love him, Count,” Chris blurted the obvious. “You’re in love with my older brother, right? That’s why you’re here. You’re staying with him. Have you slept with him or something?”

“Christopher, are you seriously asking me that kind of question?” D glanced at him with a frown and blush started to color his cheeks. “You… I don’t think you need to know. But just to satisfy your curiosity, Leon was your complete opposite in that, and that is all I will tell you.”

Relief washed Chris. He wasn’t in a mood to know about their sex life anyway; that question was utterly thoughtless. “But still, you love him! I remember the day when we all went to the beach, and then there was a volcano—”

D regarded him in confusion. “What are you talking about? What volcano?”

Chris stopped himself. “You don’t remember, Count?”

“No. Somehow I fail to memorize that. Tell me about it.”

* * *

To call the day terrible was an understatement. The volcano was horrifying, but it was thanks to Leon’s quick actions that all was okay. Chris and D were back to the past, this time it was Chris’ memory playing before them. They watched as the young version of Chris running on the port, waving his hands towards a small fishing boat that was floating on the sea.

 _This day_ , Chris echoed what his mind had stated since the day it happened. _No. I cannot tell then what actually happened. That vacation will forever stay in my heart._

Even though the boat was still far from the land, they could see everything. Faye, the little girl who’d befriended Chris in the vacation, followed little Chris’ run and finally stopped when he did. She looked worried.

“Where’s Grandpa?”

Little Chris shook his head. < _I cannot see him. But Leon and the Count are in there. They seem to be okay…_ >

Faye didn’t respond. Now that Chris was older, he understood why. Not everyone could hear his mind. She continued to wring her fingers and finally ran back to wherever she had been before, most probably to return to her parents. Little Chris had overheard that they had come to pick her up, ending her vacation with her grandfather sooner than predicted.

The boy was left alone. He continued to wave his hands so Leon and the Count could see him, but it was futile. They couldn’t see him; they looked like they were busy with themselves. Cursing the fact that he couldn’t speak, and that the boat was too far for him to hear whatever they were saying, little Chris put down his hands and waited for the boat to come closer.

But then something happened.

Leon, who had stood pretty close to D, suddenly walked even closer. D didn’t even budge as Chris’ brother cupped his face and kissed him.

* * *

If D was embarrassed, he looked like a mess when they were back to the meadow. He was blushing madly and was doing whatever he could to cover his face, muttering curses at the detective laying in the glass casket. Chris had to smile at him; despite everything, it was so cute. “Oh, my. You shouldn’t have seen that. Why didn’t you tell me, Christopher?”

“I was afraid that you wouldn’t believe me, Count. Besides… you two weren’t arguing that day. I didn’t want to bother that. I always believe that day was true, that my mind wasn’t playing tricks at me.” Chris paused, looking at D with doubt in his eyes. “It’s true, right, Count?”

D bit his lip. “Now, that we are not alive anymore, I am able to remember that day. Yes, Christopher, it was true. What happened on that boat, between me and your brother, was indeed what you saw.”

“You really love him, huh? That’s why you take the bargain… wait. Count?”

“What is it, Christopher?”

“Can you please tell me more about yourself?”

Nobody spoke for a long time, but neither needed to hear an answer anyway. But eventually he spoke.

“What do you want to know?”

* * *

D’s memory brought them to the place Chris missed the most.

Not New D’s pet shop where Chris had started to frequent, but _Count D’s Pet Shop_ , the one Chris had spent his time in. There were several customers came and went, speaking the same language the eleven-year-old Chris had heard in the news where he’d found D. German, it turned out.

D was as… divine as usual, wearing his beautiful cheongsams and offering his pets and contracts to the people. Just daily stuff and commotion in the shop. But something was off, as if he weren’t the Count Chris used to know. He didn’t talk much, and even though he tended to his pets just as well as before, Chris could see that he was sad.

“You’re mourning over Leon’s death, aren’t you, Count?”

Present-life D merely glanced at him. Chris mentally answered his own question with a yes.

Night fell, and the Count in the past closed his shop. He was walking towards the back when he heard a shuffle behind him. To Chris’ surprise, he didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

“Good evening, Grandfather.”

Chris turned to present-life D, but he wasn’t looking at him. So the human returned his gaze at the scene unfolding before them. D from the past turned as well to face his grandfather… who didn’t look like he aged a day older than him. The peculiarity of that fact sent involuntary shivers down Chris’ back.

“Good evening, my dear grandson. After years, you finally return to this city. I cannot stop wondering why you have to move so much.” Sofu D took a seat on the sofa, and Chris was absently reminded that it used to be Leon’s favorite spot. “I hope this is the last.”

“Someone has been chasing me, and I do not want to see him just yet. I know you have an idea who it is.” Chris flinched, but D continued speaking, forcing him to refocus himself. “Grandfather, forgive me if I sound rude, but why are you here? Is there anything I can do for you?”

“I am certain that you have some tea you can share with me.”

“Of course I do,” D replied. He sounded tired. “Please wait a moment.” He was back a while later, with a tray in his hands. After serving it to his grandfather, he took a seat as well, and eyed Sofu D with curiosity. “To what I owe this visit, Grandfather? Did something happen?”

“I just want to inform you that your son is old enough to tend to his own shop.” Sofu D’s voice was grave, as if he disapproved at that condition. “I gave him freedom to choose where he wants to settle down, and I shall never stop wondering why he chose New York.”

D’s hand stilled mid-air, the teacup still on the way towards his mouth. “New York, Grandfather?”

“He did not elaborate his reason of choosing, but I have an inkling of why that city, above all places in this world.” A long pause as Sofu D drank his tea and put down the cup on the table. “I am sure that you do as well, my dear grandson. Even after his death—”

“Grandfather, _please_ ,” D interrupted. “It has been years.”

“Sixteen years, to be precise, and you will continue to mourn like this?” Something resembled anger flashed in Sofu D’s golden eyes. Those eyes were too bright, too _intimidating_. “What is it that you really want, my dear grandson? That detective is dead. Even you do not have the power to resurrect him.”

“His soul is lost, Grandfather, and it is my fault. I take responsibility as fully as mine to the pets here.”

“Your love towards this human is unacceptable.”

“I know, but it does not mean that I will stop.”

“Did you convince your son to move to New York, a place where he will, most certainly, find a link to your human lover?”

Chris didn’t know whether he was happy or sad to hear Leon being referred as the Count’s ‘human lover’. He didn’t like the way Sofu D spoke it; as if Leon was nothing but trash. And a link to Leon… “Count, was he talking about _me_?”

No answer, but Chris actually didn’t need any, so he returned his focus to the scene. D in the past didn’t speak and the silence that enveloped them was uncomfortable. Eventually Sofu D stood and headed for the door.

“Sixteen years has passed, my dear grandson. You made a bargain with me that take twenty years span after that human’s death… I just hope you know what you are doing.”

“Do not fret, Grandfather. I know.”

Without saying anything more, Sofu D stepped out the pet shop. The memory stopped and changed. Chris and D found themselves in another familiar place, which made Chris gasp. “Count, this is New D’s pet shop!”

“I know.”

“Father,” New D greeted and gestured for him to sit down. “Welcome back to the States. How are you?”

“I have been better,” D answered, sitting down and folding his hands on his lap. “I have something to ask, though. That is why I am here.”

New D’s violet eyes blazed. “Is it about that Orcot individual that you told me so much about?”

“I have never thought you noticed.” D looked puzzled, but then smiled thinly. “Grandfather might be the one who raised you, but it seems like you do have ears for my stories as well.”

“Just like you have ears for your own father,” New D retorted, and Chris saw shock in D’s expression. He didn’t understand why, but decided to let it go, for New D had spoken again. “What is it, Father? Are you alright?”

“I am fine.” D looked paler than Chris ever remembered, so he was able to catch the lie quite easily. “I do have a favor to ask of you, my son. If you, by any chance, meet Detective Orcot’s younger brother, can you bring him to me?”

Chris’ breath caught in surprise. New D smiled.

“I haven’t seen him around yet, but I will. Like those humans say, ‘you have my word’.”

D’s facial features relaxed. “Thank you, my son.”

* * *

The memory blurred and was gone, and they were back in the meadow. Chris saw Leon’s casket and was reaching out when he realized that he couldn’t hold anything. He turned to D, who was staring at his past-self walking towards the casket.

_Oh. So this is still a memory._

When he was close enough, D’s past-self caressed the glass casket in the same gentleness he stroked Leon’s bare shoulder in his apartment. Then he crouched down and lay on the ground, staring up at the sun through the tree leaves. After a few minutes, he closed his eyes and his spirit left his body. Chris watched, with wide eyes, as the Count smiled gently over his own body and the casket, as if it was something he had wanted to do since forever.

Suddenly a voice was heard from the distance. “My dear grandson, what have you done?!” Sofu D was running towards him, his eyes flashed in anger and confusion. “This is too much!”

“Grandfather,” D said when he was standing in front of his spirit. “I apologize. But you do know my time is running out. I only have three more years to find Leon.”

“You are too far gone,” Sofu D groaned, his usual calm and composed façade crumbling. “Do whatever you want now. I cannot believe that you _leave your own body for a human!_ ”

D smiled bitterly. “It takes a soul to find a soul.”

“What will you do if you’ve found him?”

“If I fail to find the Detective before the twenty years bargain ends, I shall return to my body and end my mourning. If I succeed… it depends.”

“Do not call me cruel, but I wish for your failure. Depends on what, then?”

“Whether he desires me or not,” D replied evenly, as if had practiced the answer before speaking it. “If he does not, I shall return. At least I can bring him to the afterlife peace he deserves. However, if he does, I will go with him. I personally think that this possibility is unlikely. We are nothing but stubborn creatures, fighting on the opposite sides.”

Sofu D looked desperate. “So, why are you so adamant with this man?”

The bitter smile on D’s lips turned to a much happier one. “Because I have found myself in love with a human being, and that will suffice.”

* * *

Explanation time done, the memory receded, and the meadow was now around them once again. Neither spoke as they stared at Leon’s casket, but Chris was much more hopeful now. Leon somehow had responded by conjuring his memory about D’s feelings, and that was a good sign. Chris watched as nighttime started to fall in the meadow, leaving them in darkness. The only source of light was the moon, shining directly to the glass casket like a spotlight. Next to him, D was still looking at his brother, expressionless and there was no light in his mismatched eyes.

“Count?” Chris called, breaking the silence. “What should we do now?”

“I don’t know. The singing part is the last of the diary that I have read,” D replied. “Is there anything more?”

It was indeed empty. Leon didn’t write anything else, other than a short entry that said he was accepted in the academy, and that he was ready to be a police officer. He just turned twenty, and it was the best news he had received in his whole life.

 

_Gonna bust your criminal asses! Me! Beware!_

 

The line made Chris chuckle; that was _so_ his brother. But then he turned the page and what he saw written on it made him practically burst with love. He had never known Leon was capable of writing things like this, being all manly and tough brother, but apparently he was mistaken. He knew Leon had his own way of affection, and this was one of them.

* * *

_ CHRISTOPHER K. ORCOT _

_First word: ‘ ~~bwo~~ bro’ (1 year) ~~best day ever~~_

_First walk: around Benson’s apartment and he ~~fucking~~ ran towards me when I picked him up freaked me out for real (11 months)_

_Ma told me he’ll be a smartass. I guess she’s right. He’s not that bad, actually. ~~Unless when he cries, then it’s hell.~~ And the fact that he takes on Ma’s looks makes me even happier. We don’t need the bastard as long as we have each other._

_Aunt Laura just called. Pops’ looking for me, knowing that Chris has born. Funny. He’s been born for months and NOW he cares? Wonder if he knows Ma’s ~~dead~~ gone now. One thing’s for sure. No way in hell he’ll get A FUCKING GLIMPSE OF my brother! ~~I’ll do everything to survive but I’ll do more for this kid.~~_

* * *

Chris clutched the book tighter and put it near his chest. Somehow, it felt comfortable, as if it was Leon himself who was reciting his story to him. His movement accidentally made a piece of paper fell from the final pages of the book. D, the one who noticed, bent down and picked it up. Chris finally snapped out of his reverie and watched as the Count’s expression changed from serene to comprehension.

“Now I understand,” D spoke, more to himself than to Chris.

“What is it, Count? Can I look?”

“I am glad you asked.” D handed him the paper. He looked paler than before, if that was possible. “Your brother would’ve just snatched it from my hands. If we manage to meet, I wonder if I still can teach him some manners.”

Chris didn’t respond and just skimmed through the document. He had read it before, the night before the eventful Fashion Week, but it was still shocking. “This… this is my father’s death certificate. He died when I was almost two years old. That means Leon was around twenty at that time. Not long after he got to the PD.”

“I figured as much,” the Count replied. “May you look what caused it, and you shall understand.”

Hurriedly, Chris searched for the certain column, and gasped softly. Leon screamed in his head and for a moment it returned him to the edge of the burning building.

 

_“Let me go! I don’t wanna fall to my death!! Keep me here! DON’T YOU DARE MAKING ME FALL, D!”_

 

“Andrew Wayne Orcot.” Chris read slowly, his unknown biological father’s name felt strange on his lips. He noticed Leon and Mom’s handwritings at the back of the thin paper, but decided to finish this one first. “Born in Sacramento, died in LA. Just like Leon. He died when he was fifty-four. Cause of death…” He looked up at D, who nodded solemnly, urging him to keep reading. “Count, is this why…”

“Just continue, Christopher.”

Chris swallowed a few times before obliged. “Cause of death is _fatal fall_.”


	6. Leonar(d) (Part III)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The most unpleasant, yet enlightening, memory of all.

D,

I don’t know what it is,

But you do things to me

lovely dark things.

even

 the gentle unexpected graze of your hand on mine is annihilating

 

—Beau Taplin || _lovely dark things—_ ~~~~

* * *

It was nighttime, again, when they returned to the apartment. The cradle was still there, and the rest of the bedroom was still messy, but there was a police uniform hung on the cupboard. Contrasting the wreckage that was Leon’s side of bedroom, the outfit looked like a precious possession.

When sounds were heard from the outside, Chris turned and walked through the door, D followed shortly. It was dark in the living room, but suddenly the front door opened and the lamp was on. Leon walked inside, one hand holding a paper bag of groceries and the other tightly grasping toddler Chris’ smaller one.

“Shoo, squirt. Go take a bath or something,” Leon ordered, his gentle smile belied the harsh remark.

The toddler merely grinned at him, obviously not understanding what he meant. Sighing, Leon walked towards the nearest table and put down the paper bag. Then he made his way towards the bathroom, leaving the door open for little Chris to come in. “C’mon, make this quick, because I gotta go change my clothes.”

When she was still alive, Mom often said that Chris used to take a bubble bath in a portable bathtub when he was little, and flat out refused the showers. She allowed him to do that until he entered sixth grade. He once asked why she let him had his way, because as far as he could remember, neither Josie nor Sam was allowed to do such thing. _Water bills are expensive_ , Dad once said, stopping their protests.

“Because you were always so happy when I let you,” she’d answered with a laugh. “You’d drag that bucket around and looked at me with those puppy eyes of yours… it was really hard to say no. Sometimes Sam would join you, but you always looked that you had fun if you were on your own.”

The plastic bathtub wasn’t as good as the one Chris had in his childhood with his stepfamily, not even close. But his toddler-self cheered nonetheless, looking like he was going to receive the best prize in the world. Leon took a stool and sat next to it, a bottle of baby shampoo stood next to his foot. His smile was dazzling as he opened his arms. “C’mere, Chris!”

As he watched his toddler-self rushed towards his brother, a cheer in every stride, Chris finally understood _why_ this simple activity made him so happy when he was a child.

It wasn’t long until Leon got toddler Chris into the bathtub, now filled with white foam. He played with the water, splashing it and making bubbles with his hand. The child laughed and tried his best to imitate his brother, weakly splashing the water and failing at making bubbles. Leon grinned and taught him how to make bubbles in order to distract him while he was washing little Chris’ body.

“This is how you do it, buddy,” he said, shaping the toddler’s hand and dipped it to the foamy water. After a few attempts, little Chris was able to let out a bubble, much smaller than the one Leon made. Despite that, Leon laughed and patted his head, smiling proudly as if it were the best thing little Chris had ever done. “Nice. Now, do it again, kid.”

Chris smiled tearfully, feeling like squealing along with younger self. He really, _really_ wanted to hug his brother right now. He found himself missing Leon’s hand on his head, ruffling his hair and telling him things he should do.

A few minutes later, Leon lifted the reluctant toddler out from the water and sat him down on the stool. “Sit still,” he commanded, drying him with a towel and putting on green pajamas. Little Chris waited patiently, as if understood, as his brother buttoned the shirt and pulled up the pants. Leon was in the middle of draining the bathtub when someone knocked—no, _banged_ —the door.

Leon tensed.

 

“OPEN UP, BOY!”

 

Leon had always been a brave person; Chris had never seen him scared. As far as he knew, his older brother didn’t have that word in his life dictionary. Even at gunpoint, in order to protect D and Chris who were kidnapped, Leon could still look cool as a cucumber. He was a type of person who would jump into the dark with a grin as long as he knew he was doing the right thing.

But the voice from the outside drained all color from his face, making him as pale as a sheet. Chris was a police officer; he could recognize panic when he saw it, but he had never seen it on _his brother_ , and that was what made things ten times more horrifying.

“Chris,” he said; his voice suddenly hoarse. Gone were the smile and laughs just a few minutes earlier. Then panic took over his tone as words kept streaming from his lips. “Please don’t scream, don’t cry, just please be quiet this once, alright, Chris?”

Everything inside Chris turned into stone as he knew _exactly_ what his brother was saying. He had heard it before, after all.

Leon was still rambling, occasionally putting his index finger on his own lips, a silencing gesture he desperately hoped little Chris would understand. “Please? Please? Hush, hush, zipper on your lips. Keep quiet, okay? You’re a smartass. You’ll know what I mean. Chris, please? Do it for me? Know what Old Benson says? Hush, hush.”

“Bro,” the toddler responded. Apparently he had sensed the fear in his brother, for he looked like he was going to cry.

“I KNOW YOU ARE IN THERE, BOY!”

“Hush, hush, hush,” Leon whispered hurriedly, cupping little Chris’ cheeks. A smile was obviously forced on his lips. “Please, don’t speak. Don’t cry. Just stay here and be quiet. D’you get me, Chris?” He gently put his palm over the toddler’s eyes. “Close your eyes. Sleep, sleep, _please_ , Chris, hush, hush, okay?”

Little Chris didn’t protest at the sudden darkness, and when Leon lifted his palm, he had closed his eyes. He was strangely obedient in such a young age, but it could come in handy at times like this. Leon ruffled his hair and left, closing the bathroom door behind him.

“You better leave—”

“SHUT UP MY SON’S IN THERE AND I HAVE THE RIGHT TO SEE HIM!”

Leon put on a brave face and opened the door, even though it was obvious that he just wanted to disappear. There were two people on the doorway, and one of them suddenly barged inside and slammed the door close. “So, here you are, boy. Finally.”

Chris saw his brother flinch; another thing he had never seen his brother doing.

“Where’s your brother? I wanna see my son, too.”

“You’re drunk, dammit!” Leon exclaimed as a reply. “Get the fuck out from here or I’ll call the cops!”

“But you are part of the cops, boy,” his father sneered as he took a step closer to his first son, his bleary eyes so murderous that even D frowned. Leon pushed him away reflexively, making him even angrier. “Don’t you _ever_ make me mad, Leonard!”

Dad’s voice suddenly returned to Chris’ mind, spoken in his impromptu sleepover on Chris’ bed. _“Leonard… silly boy never fears anything but his own father. Andrew’s a son of a bitch. Wonder why Caroline stayed with him for so long. I think she was just trying to keep her family intact. It was horrible for her and Leonard must’ve been real confused when he was a kid, because he hits her and then returns with apologies and flowers.”_

_“Did he… did he hit Leon too?” The image had been too hard for Chris to comprehend, but he’d always had a feeling that his brother’s childhood was far rougher than his own._

_“I never saw him doing it in front of my eyes—or I’d have called Child Protection Services right away. One day, he ran from home; hitchhiked from LA to my house to ask for our help. Laura did anything she could to keep him there, but Andrew came to pick him up after a week. Never heard from them again… until Caroline ended up in a hospital, and Leonard looked like he’d just come out from a fight. None of them told us anything, but at that time he told me that he’d better die than let him touch the people he loved. Damn it, are you sure you want to know this?”_

No. _“Yes.”_ Stop talking, Dad. _“Please, Dad.”_

_“Do you know why Leonard lets his hair long? Andrew—shit, you need to know but I still hate saying this—liked to cut it by force when he thought it was too long. When he’s free from that guy, that long hair’s some kind of rebellion.”_

The conversation distracted him for a moment, and when he was back to reality he gasped. Pops had put out a knife from his pocket and gripped it in a threatening manner, ready to attack if Leon dared to launch himself towards him. Leon stepped back, his eyes looking around. For his own gun, most probably. But when he failed to find it, he returned his focus to the knife, obviously scared shitless.

“C’mon, boy,” Pops said, shrugging. “You only need to hand me your little brother.”

“There’s no way I’ll do that.” Despite his intense fear, Leon still stood his ground. _I’ll do anything to survive, but I’ll do_ more _for this kid_. For Chris; for himself. The words returned to Chris’ mind, making his breath caught.

Pops spat on the floor. “Bullshit, Leonard! What good can you do for him? He still has a father! ME! He should’ve gone home with me!”

Leon exploded; the anger in him was too much to handle. “SO YOU CAN BEAT HIM UP EVERY DAY LIKE YOU DID TO ME?! SHUT UP! YOU ARE NOTHING THAN A SON OF A BITCH!”

And the fight began. Their words swarmed Chris, but he was too taken aback to notice. His dream… was the day Leon protected him from their own abusive father. Those were the shouting he had heard in his dream. But who came into the bathroom and soothe his little body, shaking with fear—

He glanced at the bathroom, right when D stepped through the door. _Oh, I get it now_. He wanted to go after the Count, but he was rooted to the spot. He couldn’t move, not even when Leon howled in pain as the knife stabbed his waist and arms as he tried to protect himself. He watched as Leon fell onto the floor, bruised and bloody and definitely frightened. Even for someone as courageous as Leon, he still had someone he feared so badly all wits fled from his mind.

“LEARN YOUR LESSON, BOY!” his father bellowed, staggering towards the bathroom. “NOW WHERE IS YOUR BROTHER?!”

With sudden strength, Leon jumped and took hold of his father’s shoulder before shoving him backwards, as far as he could. He would do anything to keep Pops away from the toddler in the bathroom. “STAY AWAY FROM ME AND CHRIS!”

Leon pushed him in whatever direction, but neither of them saw the open window right behind his father’s body. Pops didn’t even have the time to _scream_ when he doubled backwards out the window and down to the far ground below. Chris didn’t know which floor Leon and their late mother had lived in, but he knew pretty well that it was high enough to kill.

 

And then… total quietness.

 

 _Move, Chris, move!_ , his mind commanded urgently, and so he did. Leon’s legs gave up and he sprawled on the floor, understandably in some state of shock. Blood continued to roll down his wounds, and Chris had to struggle not to think about the burning building. To Chris’ surprise, Leon’s eyes flickered when he was close enough.

_Detective, in his hopelessness, has bared his soul. Reach for him._

At D’s words back in the hospital. Chris understood immediately. He slowly knelt next to his brother, who looked so young and vulnerable and _tired_. But not scared, at least not like the one Chris had seen before. Somehow, fear had escaped Leon, leaving shock and exhaustion in return. “Leon,” he called. “It’s okay, Leon. It’s over now. You are safe.”

“J-just… save Chris…” Leon croaked out, reaching for Chris’ nearest hand. “My… my brother. Please. H-he’s just a… a kid…”

It was too much. Chris began crying as he pulled his brother into his arms. “Bro,” he whispered, using his first word spoken since he was born. “My big brother Leon, it’s okay. It’s over. You’re safe. I’m safe. Please calm down.”

Leon jerked and Chris was worried that he had hugged him too tightly until he heard Leon speak out once again. “…Chris? Y-you are… s-safe?” he asked faintly before passing out.

“He has recognized you,” D’s voice was suddenly heard a few feet nearby. Chris looked up and saw him standing straight, a certain toddler in his arms, sleeping. “Well done, Christopher. You have reached his soul, and he is willing since he knows you managed to live until adulthood.” A genuine smile appeared on his face. “Now you can take him with us.”

“Yes, Leon, yes,” Chris said tearfully, looking back down at his brother with so much love he felt his heart was going to burst. Despite the tears, he let out a soft laugh of relief as he slowly rocked Leon’s body back and forth. “I’ve come to take you home.”

* * *

**Dear Chris,**

**Leon’s father, your father, fell down the apartment window belonged to Carol and Leon. He was drunk and his death was ruled accidental in a form of self-defense (Leon has those knife wounds to prove it). You were found in your cradle, asleep and safe. Nobody pressed charges against your brother; he’s known as an abusive father anyway.**

**According to his friend, who contacted me and gave his words to the cops, Andy’s been tracking down Leon for months and accidentally found him in the bar where he worked before he entered the Academy. He followed Leon home so he could find you and take you away with him. I don’t know why, since he’s done nothing good for his first son. I personally glad that he didn’t get to do it.**

**Leon has to see a shrink for two years, since he also has to deal with the abuse he has suffered as well. It was a very tough time and I stayed for a few months to take care of him. Even though you were the only thing that kept him sane, he knew better than to keep you in such an unstable environment. So he asked for me and Stan’s help to take you away from there and give you the life that he had never gotten when he was your age.**

**I found this letter when Leon was moving out. He didn’t seem to notice that I took it. He blames himself for Andy’s death, but I always tell him that he did the right thing, because he did. He really did. He was protecting you, and his father’s death freed him too.**

**I wrote this letter under Leon’s, behind Andy’s death certificate, because in case you read this, you’ll find another piece of puzzle about your own family. If you’ve read Leon’s letter before this, just keep it in mind that even though your brother thinks he killed Andy, he’s doing more good than bad. He loves you very much and will do anything for your sake, even if it means total separation.**

**Love,**

**Mom**

* * *

_Chris,_

_To be honest, I’m writing this because the shrink told me to._

_How are you, buddy? Everything’s good in Aunt Laura’s house? Enjoy your time there, because when you get to school, hell begins. Make sure to have some good friends. They can back you up if you need them. If we meet, remind me to tell you about Harry, my childhood friend. He’s one hell of a guy._

_You’re living with Uncle Stan now. He’s a good man, even though we never really get along since I was a kid. He’s ~~so fucking~~ too strict, all rules and regulations, and sometimes he thinks I’m a bad influence to Josie. But, for God’s sake, he’s the best you can call a father. So do it. Be a good kid to him._

_I was told to write a letter to a future you. So, let’s imagine that I’m writing to you in 25 years. You’re now 28 years old in my head, ~~being a cop~~ having a job you want and leading a great life independently ~~in the PD~~.  
_

_The reason I’m writing behind this death certificate is that I want to confess something. You’re old enough to know. I killed ~~my~~ our father. He died of a fatal fall, but in fact I was the one shoving him out._

_It was an accident, but I’ll be honest with you. I hate him with everything in this world, and you’re a lucky bastard of not knowing him. I’m sorry that I ~~killed him~~ he’s dead, and I’ll live with this guilt until I die, but you deserve to know._

_If you’re reading this, it’s mostly because you’re 28 yourself. I was also told to give you an advice. What? I really REALLY suck at these kinds of things, why me? Well, there it is. My only message is that you should be yourself. Don’t be someone who follows shadows and memories. Be yourself, Chris, and live fully. Think of yourself too. Even if we’re not together, and you might not remember me, I’ll always be proud of you, and I’ll be a shitty liar if I said I don’t._

_Leon, your brother_

* * *

Chris was back in the meadow, and the first thing he noticed was the absence of the glass casket. Leon was lying on the ground where the casket previously took place, and D was already sitting next to his body, his face devoid of any emotions. When Chris was close enough, he could see that Leon’s eyes were open and he couldn’t help but to let tears escape from his own.

“Who are you?” Leon asked, not knowing how a grown-up Chris looked like.

Chris just cried harder. Leon’s eyes widened.

“No kidding. Chris?”

Unable to wait even longer, Chris launched himself towards his brother, just like when he was little, back then in front of that institution for kids with special needs. To his joy, Leon automatically sat up and circled his arms around him and hugged him just as tightly. “Hey, squirt. Such crybaby, even in this age. You look good.”

“You too, Leon,” he croaked out between his sobs. “Glad to have you here.”

Leon patted his head. The gesture was awkward, but Chris welcomed the affection it had nonetheless. “Me too, Chris. Me too.”

They stayed in that position for a long time, until D broke the silence. “Detective, Christopher, I believe it’s time for you to go.”

The brothers released themselves and looked at him, puzzled. But before Leon could say anything about the Count being there, D had stepped aside, revealing someone they hadn’t seen for decades. Their surprise stopped any remark that was going to emerge.

Leon spoke first. “Ma?”

She was as beautiful as the picture in Leon’s apartment, forever etched in Chris’ mind since he first saw it. Her blonde hair, inherited to her two sons, moved slightly with the wind, and her clear blue eyes were shining as she smiled at them. The happiness evident in her expression made her look ten years younger, and Chris felt his heart might burst.

“Hello, boys. We finally meet again. I’ve missed you two.”

Chris stood on shaky legs, and helped his brother to do the same. “Hi, Ma. You look great.” It was the first time he saw his mother, and she was _very, very real_. Death was really a pleasant thing. He smiled tearfully at her. “We finally meet. Finally, Ma.”

In a flash, she had stood right in front of him, cupping his cheeks and wiping his tears. “You really take after Leon, huh,” she mused, still smiling. “Your eyes, your hair, _everything_. I really miss you, little boy. My crybaby little boy.”  She turned at Leon and her smile turned to a grin. It was when Chris noticed the envy in his brother’s eyes, amused him as well. “And you too, big boy. I miss my boys. The angels can’t replace any of you.”

“Of course they can’t,” Leon muttered, making Ma and Chris laugh.

“Are you two ready to go?” she asked. The brothers nodded enthusiastically and Ma held their hands as they walked away from the tree. Chris felt like he was a child again, feeling the warmth of the mother he had always questioned since Sam drilled the fact in his mind. He looked at Ma and smiled so brightly. He was so, _so happy_ —

“Wait.”

Leon’s words stopped the three of them. Chris and Ma watched as he turned and stared hard at D who was eyeing them with a blank expression. He wasn’t so far enough that Chris could see his hand, waving at their departure as if they were going for a long journey and wouldn’t be back for a long time. Then, Chris realized with a start, _they really would_. He felt guilty; the joy of seeing his mother made him forget D completely, but—

“He makes you happy, Leon,” Ma suddenly said. “Go on.”

After nodding at Ma, Leon opened his mouth. “OI, D!” he bellowed, surprising Chris. Next to him, Ma giggled as if she had expected that. “YOU COMING WITH US OR WHAT?”

What happened after made Chris gape in surprise.

 

D _ran_.

 

The Count, the epitome of calm and collected—if Leon wasn’t concerned, that was— _freakin’ ran_ towards Leon like his life depended on it… and Chris was back to a little boy, the happiest time he had in his twenty-eight years of age as he, too, released Ma’s hand and ran towards his former caretaker. He returned to age six and Leon was twenty-four and their mother was fifty and healthy and Chris didn’t mind at all because bodies were no longer important. They could be anything they wanted as long as they were together at peace.

Leon was faster. He reached D first in the middle of their run and hauled him in his arms. He spun the Count around like he did Chris when he was ecstatic, but neither seemed to mind. When Chris managed to reach them, panting for breath, Leon already had D in his arms, whispering a hoarse thank you with a furiously blushing face. The Count didn’t seem to mind as he, too, sneaked his arms around Leon and held him tightly. It was a strange sight, but Chris much preferred this than the fights that used to go on and on in the pet shop.

“Count, you’re coming with us, right?” Chris asked, wanting to distract them. He hated to break their moment, but he had to, for their mother was waiting. She was still smiling, but it would be rude to… push her away like that.

D released Leon and smiled at Chris. It was the same gentle smile he used to see when Chris was still living in the pet shop. “Who am I to refuse such a kind invitation from your brother?” he spoke sweetly. Leon rolled his eyes, but Chris failed to understand why. “Yes, I’m coming with you, Christopher. I’ve made my choice, after all, since I put the Detective in the glass casket and looked for his soul in his past times.”

Chris couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips and he grabbed D’ s hand and made their way back towards their mother. The Count bowed slightly in front of her when they were close enough.

“Mrs. Orcot,” he greeted smoothly.

“Oh, my dear Count, aren’t you the best person with manners,” she replied with a laugh. She looked at her sons as she continued. “Now, let’s go, my boys. We’re all done here.” Then she turned at D and touched his shoulder, making him rise. “You too, Count. You’re always welcome.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Orcot.”

Leon laughed out loud; his voice defeated the others’. “See? You gave me a choice in that goddamn building, now I gave you one, too!”

D glared at him. “Language, Detective.”

“Shut up, D. This is the afterlife and all you care about is my fucking vocabulary?”

Suddenly, to Chris’ surprise, Ma extended her arm and pinched Leon’s mouth. “ _Leonard!_ Watch your mouth! I’m not having anyone using that kind of language in my earshot, especially my own son!”

“Yeah, yeah, Ma, whatever.” Despite the reprimand, Leon still looked cheerful. He even pecked Ma’s cheek and winked at her. Chris giggled as his brother ruffled his hair. “You guys are _so_ not fun! Don’t be like them, Chris. You’ll turn an old man before you know it.”

“I should’ve known better before I ended up here,” D muttered without malice. Leon shoved him playfully and placed an affectionate peck on his pale cheek. Chris could see the Count’s face blushing slightly.

And so they went, peace and bliss and amusement covering them as they finally disappeared. If there were someone else in the meadow, the last thing they would’ve seen was Chris jumping into his mother’s arm while Leon wrapped his around the Chinese Count’s shoulders, who didn’t seem to mind.

Nothing else but joyful laughs was heard.


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath.

**And when** _we kissed one another for the first time_ **I could swear I heard our souls whisper ever so quietly,**

_“Welcome home.”_

_—Beau Taplin_ || **_Welcome Hom_ _e—_**

* * *

“Whatever, Count.”

The lady with dog ears was pouting from her place on the sofa. Unlike most dogs, she didn’t look like a naïve little girl, but more like a petulant, loud-mouthed teenager. That was how she liked to be perceived, because even if she was small, she wasn’t something to be underestimated. “I told you, there’s no way stopping your father when he’s made his choice.”

“It’s too bad,” New D grumbled from where he was hanging a picture. “I like Officer Orcot. He is as nice as how Father always tells me in his stories. If only Father didn’t take him in first.” He sighed. “I know he wouldn’t say no for the bargain I have proposed, but if only… no, I do not want to hope. It’s all useless, after all.”

Ro snorted. “You wouldn’t have known. You haven’t even born yet. When they met, I mean. You might end up like him, if you do, and we still need you to run this place,” she reasoned. “Anyway, how are his pets? I kinda miss T-chan right now. Imagine his face when I told him your father finally chose those humans more than his pets!”

New D sounded somber as he replied. “I think he already knows.”

* * *

Tetsu felt it before he could see it. He was in the kitchen when it happened, making some dinner for the whole shop, now multiplied with the addition of Sofu D’s own pets. It was an exhausting work, but that was enough distraction he needed. Cooking, either as himself or as that Wong human, was always a good place to hide whenever he needed to be alone.

“So, this is how ending a grief feels like,” he murmured to nobody. “Hm. I don’t feel that good.” He turned off the stove and walked away from the kitchen. They could wait.

Pon-chan, forever a little girl, joined him in the dim corridor, her expression grim. “T-chan!” she called, without the usual enthusiasm. “Did you feel it too?”

The toutetsu regarded her softly. “I think everybody in here did,” he replied and let her follow him to the furthest room in the shop. He opened the door, revealing a meadow in a middle of a day. The sun practically bathed the grass with its light, making the place looking like a wide carpet of gold. “We’re late, huh? The rest are there already.”

No answer, unsurprisingly. All the pets had gathered in the meadow, and Pon-chan was too transfixed at the scene before her. Tetsu let the girl on his shoulders and made his way through the crowd. The toutetsu himself wasn’t that tall to be able to go through, but the pets knew how special they were, and thus they self-consciously stepped aside, making the way much easier for the two.

The first thing Tetsu saw was Honlon, standing nearby. She pointed forward, and his sight followed her hand. Sofu D was in the middle of the meadow, standing a few feet away from the lone tree. His expression was dark, and Tetsu didn’t dare to bother him. He merely bent down so Pon-chan could get to the ground, and they stood silently. For once, he didn’t complain when the girl grabbed his hand and held tight.

“He won,” Sofu D spoke after a while. “The twenty-years bargain.”

“I think it’s better this way!” Pon-chan exclaimed, tears running down her plump cheeks. “He’s happy now!”

Bitterness got into Tetsu. He glared at the scene before him. “Wonder why he has to make such a fuss. He made a bargain with his son, too, in case you guys don’t remember. That’s cheating, right?”

“Does any of it matter now?” Sofu D asked rhetorically. “He’s chosen.”

Tetsu knew he had a point. “Are you not angry? He’s your grandson! Now only the two of you remained!”

“Can you do anything, Tetsu? If you cannot, I need to advise you to keep your silence.” Sofu D didn’t even look at him as he said that. “I’ve always been afraid of his disobedience. I shouldn’t have left him too long, but he loved Q-chan, and he was so happy living in that country, much more than when he was under my care. Now, tell me, toutetsu, how can you deal with that kind of feeling?”

Silence. Tetsu pouted in annoyance and stared at the bodies on the ground, under the tree, trying to distract himself. Leon and D were huddled together; their arms entangled in a protective manner over a six-year old Chris, who was nestled between them, safe and sound and lifeless. It was a very beautiful image, and Tetsu hated himself for thinking that way.

“Farewell, grandson, you win. I hope you are happy,” Sofu D whispered, then lifted his arms. “The funeral shall commence.”

Vines emerged from the ground, slithering the three of them and pushing them to the sky, sign of a last respect. Under the sunlight, Leon and Chris’ blond hair made them more ethereal, meanwhile D’s pale features looked fresher, more… _alive_.

How ironic.

D’s pets let out their own distressed noises as the vines lowered them to the ground. The birds and mythical creatures that could fly surrounded the vines and followed their movements. For some reason, Honlon appeared as a three-headed dragon and they were crying as they, too, soared to the bright sky.

Pon-chan was helplessly sobbing next to Tetsu, gripping his hand so tightly her knuckles were turning white. She whispered their names again and again, and eventually Chris’ name was the only one chanted through her quivering lips. Tetsu wasn’t surprised; she really loved the kid in her own childlike ways.

As the soil opened and ate the bodies, claimed them back to the nature where they belonged, the toutetsu found himself weeping, too, even though it was not only his late caretaker that he was crying over.

* * *

When Pamela Morris opened her eyes, struggling to find clarity amidst the numbness, a nurse was the first thing she saw. She knew that nurse; she’d seen her more often than a normal person—with normal job—would. _What’s her name again? Vera? Veronica?_ She glanced at the nametag on her chest and was finally able to make out _Nurse Lopez_ in her sluggish mind.

_Veronica Lopez._

_Nickname: Ronnie. She_ loathes _her name, so call her that._

“Don’t speak and stay still,” Nurse Ronnie instructed before Pam even opened her mouth. That showed how _often_ she ended up in this place. “That’s such a miracle that you survive. I’ll call Doc, and your family needs to be informed.” She sighed. “I think your parents are ready to pull you out the PD if this happens again.”

Pam managed a few blinks that Nurse Ronnie could take as a yes. She watched as the nurse left to fetch Doctor Phillips, who was less than enthusiastic to have her in the hospital _again_. It was hours later that her mind was finally cleared and she was able to speak and move. Her mother looked like she was going to drown the whole room in her tears, while her father couldn’t stop babbling about how relieved he was to see his daughter alive.

Chief paid a visit later that day, when the visiting hours were coming to a close. Exhaustion was clear on his face and he looked like that he preferred to be at home than in a hospital room of his subordinate, but smiled nonetheless as he took a seat next to her bed. “Congratulations, Officer Morris, you managed to get out alive. Again. What, you have nine lives or something?”

The female officer appreciated the dry humor and laughed shortly. “I suppose so. How about the others?”

“Braxton is caught, alive and well. That bitch had the chance to save herself when her models died in the explosion. She had eleven suicide bombers posing as audiences between all of those people, and let them in under her special invitation. People with special invitation had better access and the worse security.” Chief made a face. “What a pain. Seventy-five people died, hundreds injured, including the models and VIPs. We’re still looking for what terrorist group she belongs in.”

Pam felt vaguely guilty for some reason. No, no. It was certainly betrayal that she felt. She liked Braxton’s designs, after all, and she had wasted some time rambling about it to—

“Chief, how are my friends? Are they okay?”

The older man’s face turned even darker than before. “Well, I guess you’d have known sooner or later, Morris. Twelve of us died, mostly the ones posing as audiences. Twenty-one are injured, including yourself. Ken’s still in a coma, but the doctor told me he’ll make it.”

A bad feeling clutched her and didn’t let go. “Please don’t tell me—”

“Yes, Officer Morris, after a long battle in the ambulance, we lost Officer Orcot.” Chief was silent for a moment as Pam burst into tears. “He was still alive when we pulled him out the debris, but his conditions suddenly dropped when he was already on the way here and they failed to revive him.”

Pam couldn’t speak; she was too choked up to do so. Her head was spinning, but she didn’t want the nurse. She only wanted to grief on her own, while only her boss was the witness.

“I’m sorry, Officer Morris.”

Her mind cleared even better, as if she weren’t under any influence of those meds. It reminded her of the dream she had when she was still unconscious. She was back in the ruined building, but she was safe. She was standing on the stones and broken walls. The blue sky was clear above her head.

“I dreamed… when I was still asleep.”

“Yes?” Chief asked patiently.

“I saw…” _what is it that I saw?_ She was back there, but there was nobody else but herself… and a stranger standing a few meters from her. An Asian, from what she could infer. “I saw… someone. Looks like he belongs in Chinatown or something.”

Her own words stopped her. The stranger in her dream looked up, and even though his eye was hidden, she could see that the color was golden, while the uncovered one was as violet as an amethyst. _Chinatown_. Chris liked to spend his time there, in a pet shop…

Chief didn’t say anything, but when Pam returned to reality, she knew he wanted to hear more. So she opened her mouth. She remembered seeing the stranger standing over a body laid on the ground. “Chris once showed me a pic of this guy… he runs a pet shop in Chinatown. Dee, if I’m not wrong. That guy looks similar with the stranger in my dream. Different haircut, but still—”

It took Pam a few minutes to realize that the body on the ground, surrounded by what remained from the building, was her partner’s. She watched, but couldn’t move, as he bent down and touched Chris’ lifeless— _no, he’s still breathing!_ —body. “I yelled at him… ‘What are you doing?! It’s Chris, let him go!’ I swear, Chief, Orcot was still alive before he came!”

She was silent for a long time, trying to find out what happened after in her weird dream. Chief waited as well.

“It just feels so damn _real_ —” she muttered, sobbing. “‘His time is over,’ he said, again and again. ‘Christopher is coming with me. I need his help and I’m sure he wants to see me.’ That was what he said.”

Pam couldn’t move in her dream, and she watched as Chris’ body lost the breath and will to live as the stranger straightened, his hand carrying a child. Even though she had never seen her partner as a child, she knew well who that was. _“Stop! Who are you? Return Chris immediately!”_

Her own scream was still ringing in her ears whenever that particular memory returned. She hid her face in her hands, the tears rolling down, unstoppable. But, for some reason, she wanted to continue. “I thought it was real… so I tried my best to stop him from walking away… taking that little boy with him—dammit, taking _Chris_ with him!”

“Officer Morris, I think that’s enough,” Chief declared stiffly, rising to his feet. “You need rest. We’ll talk again tomorrow.”

“No!” she shouted despite herself. It made her head hurt, but she couldn’t help it. “Please, lemme finish, Chief. I don’t care if you think it’s just meds talking, but I need to say it.”

Chief regarded her sourly, but sat back down. He knew better than to reject his subordinate’s wish, especially when she was in such a state. “Alright. Continue. So, you think Officer Orcot is killed? That it wasn’t his time yet, but this… creature took him by force?”

Pam nodded vigorously and images from her dream returned. _She couldn’t move from her spot on the ruined building. “Please return Chris! He’s my friend! He’s a good guy!”_

 _The stranger turned and his eyes were as cold as ice. She could see his arms tightening around the sleeping little boy._ “‘His time here is over,’ he said. I know it’s not true, Chief! That’s bullshit! ‘I need him to help me. I’m sure he wants to see me.’ I asked what Chris has to do and why he’d love to see him but he didn’t answer. And then he said… he said…”

“Yeah?”

Those mismatched eyes would haunt her until the day she died; she was sure of that. They were full with something she couldn’t decipher… but his gesture looked like he was obtaining what he wanted for _so long_. It scared her, for obvious reasons. “He told me… ‘ _when_ _nature calls, we all shall drown._ ’”

* * *

The picture of Leonard Terrence Orcot, LAPD detective, died on duty decades ago, was printed black and white and hanged in a bar ran and dedicated for the police force. Jillian Freshney never liked that, for it obscured Leon’s striking blue eyes and blond hair. The face was too serious, as well, since he was posing in his uniform. He didn’t smile either. It was something that Jill never told anyone, but she adored Leon’s smile. To be precise, his smile and grin and instinct and exasperating behavior. She knew he was a good man, despite his flaws. He deserved better things than what happened to him when he was alive.

“Hello, Detective Freshney,” the bartender greeted cheerfully. “It’s been a while. Off-duty today? What brings you here?”

“Yeah.” She took a seat and ordered her drink and didn’t answer the bartender’s last question. Instead, she merely played with the glass and looked up at a certain picture hanged on the wall. Leon’s serious eyes returned her stare with frozen ferocity.

One day, when he was drunk, Leon spilled everything to his partner, who had never thought much about his life. He’d told her about his childhood, filled with constant fear of a ticking bomb that was his father. About his school life, him being a lonely jock, excelled in football but hadn’t really wanted to socialize, before he had to run away. About the jobs he had to take to support his mother’s pregnancy and the rent, including the one in the bar where she was now. About Chris’ birth and his mother’s death, when all he wanted was to throw himself out of their apartment building. About his early days as a cop, the happiest days in his life, when he found a will to _live_ again. About little Christopher, how much _alike_ they were, what a nice kid he was, and how taking care of that boy made Leon realize that his mother had left him with someone worth fighting for.

Eventually, he had babbled about his father’s death. Luckily, Jill had heard about that when she was assigned as his partner, thus the calm behavior she expressed as he blamed himself for the accidental/self-defense ‘murder’. According to Leon, it had been the time when he finally _woke up_ from a pleasant dream. The visits to the shrink were able to calm him down, but the fear was still there, covered by intense dedication of work and sexual imagination a.k.a. those porn babes and magazines shoved under the mattress.

She didn’t approve of them, but she understood where that came from and why it barricaded the real Leon. Those were the images Leon always put on after he managed to pull himself together, and people accepted it without question, including Count D and Chris, when he was back in the city where he was born. Still, when he was totally wasted, he couldn’t stop himself from baring his soul, which had never been as courageous as people liked to believe.

“All I… want, Jill,” he’d slurred back then, “is for Chris t-to have a good place… home. I didn’t have it, and I cannot. Give it to him, I mean. Dangerous job and all. Stan’s a… a good man, has money. Laura’s… she’s nice. Chris’ a good life now. Don’t bother him a-anymore. Better off witho—myself.”

Jill knew that wasn’t the real reason. Yeah, being a cop was dangerous, but she’d suspected that Leon wanted to protect Chris from himself. That one made more sense. She sighed and looked away from the picture, memories about her late partner emerged even though she didn’t really want to.

“Hey,” she called the bartender. “You’re Tony, right?”

“Yep,” the man affirmed. “What is it?”

“Just asking. There’s a reason why I come here today,” she replied. “Can you take down Detective Orcot’s picture? Bring it over here, please.”

Tony obliged without question and in a matter of minutes, Leon’s framed picture was placed on the table in front of the female detective. She nodded her thanks at him and let him walk away, taking care of other customers’ orders. When she was sure no one was looking, she pulled out a plastic folder from inside her backpack.

Leon’s colored picture, with a slight playful smile— _typical Leon_ —in the same size as the one framed, looked back at her with his blue eyes that always shone whenever he’d been excited. She opened the frame and exchanged the pictures before closing it again and casually put it before her so Tony could return it when he was back.

As predicted, he was back after he was done. “You changed the photo?” he asked as if he couldn’t see it.

“Yeah. This one’s better.” Jill lifted the frame so both of them could see it more clearly. “See?”

“Y-yeah,” Tony agreed reluctantly. “Hey, Detective Orcot was your partner, right? Died years ago?”

Jill nodded. “There was an explosion in a building. He was last seen with Count D from Chinatown’s pet shop. That guy’s presumed dead, too.”

Tony smiled sympathetically. “Sorry to hear that, Detective Freshney. I remember having Orcot around for a while, before he got to the PD. Nice guy, even though sometimes I wanna kick his ass. Too rough on people. Ideal cop, good bouncer, but shitty bartender.”

“I know. That’s how Leon was.” _Was_. The past tense felt bitter in Jill’s tongue. “I rarely come here, unless it’s Leon’s death anniversary. You can hang it back now. I’m done changing the photo. Thank you.”

“No problem. Well, to be honest, that’s actually why I always remember you, Detective. You only come exactly on that day.” He paused. “But Detective Orcot’s death anniversary is in June. That’s still a few months away.” After he was done rehanging the picture, Tony was back to his earlier place across from Jill. “Not like I’m complaining,” he added quickly. His tone was gentler when he continued. “But did something happen?”

Jill smiled sadly. “I just got news. Leon has a little brother, Christopher—”

“The one Leon used to talk about when he was drunk,” Tony interrupted, looking like he couldn’t stop himself. “Never when he was sober. Like he always tried to cover up about him, and when he was drunk everything just… spilled out. He really loved the kid, I could see that. Begged me, though, to not tell anyone about it, so I didn’t.”

 _He did?_ Jill was surprised, but left it at that. “Have you heard of the bombing in the Fashion Week? Chris Orcot was an officer in NYPD, and he was among those who died. His partner was badly injured, but survived. Chris himself died in the way to the hospital after his condition suddenly dropped.”

Officer Orcot, NYPD. Christopher. Little Chris. Born in LA, died in New York, at the age of twenty-eight. Three years older than Leon when he went into that fucking building. Chris, who had grown up, finally met his demise the way his brother did. In an explosion, while doing what they had to.

Leon’s features on Chris’ face were still fresh in Jill’s mind, when she’d visited him after hearing that he was back in the States. Seeing him was like meeting a mature, more refined version of short-haired Leon Orcot. But the excitement, the eagerness to do the right thing, the way he carried himself, the keen instinct, were exactly the same.

The brothers were more similar than she had ever imagined.

Nobody spoke for a while as they basked in their own grief. “I’m so sorry to hear that,” Tony finally said, breaking the silence. “It must be hard for their family. I hope they’re happy now.”

“I hope so too. They’re good guys,” Jill replied emotionlessly. She finally let out a slight smile and lifted her glass—still full—at the direction of Leon’s picture. It was a sign of respect… of _adoration_. Warmth filled her insides, even though she hadn’t drunk anything yet. _What a shit life Leon had._ “That guy deserved better. Chris too. Both of them did.”

 _Even Count D too, if he was innocent. Leon must’ve obsessed with him for a reason other than wanting to throw him behind bars. His instinct wasn’t one to be questioned, even though the whole force did._ Jill wondered why her mind conjured the Chinese’s image when she was thinking about her late partner and his brother, but didn’t try to push it away. Count D and Leon were practically a complete package, even in their last day together.

Tony nodded and was forced to leave her side as the other customers asked for him. Jill was left alone. Her hand was still lifted high. Leon’s blue eyes gazed at her and never wavered, just like himself when he was still alive and kicking. She felt as if he were approving what she’d done. Maybe he really was. He always liked toasts and celebrations and such, because it was fun.

Jill wondered if there was an afterlife that she could drink together with him, making jokes and discussing cases. She swore she could smell a familiar, yet distinct, aroma of incense, and closed her eyes. How she missed her youthful days was indescribable.

“Hey, Leon, this is for you and little Chris. Must be fun for you two now, playing together like what you always want,” she muttered. Her voice was drowned by the noise from other people in the bar, but she didn’t care. This was her private prayer, after all, belonged to her and her alone. “Here’s a toast for a happy afterlife, because you two fucking deserve it. Cheers.”

* * *

“So,” Ro continued to voice her questions. “You’re saying that the funeral has been conducted? Why don’t you tell us? I’d love to come!”

“I believe so, yes. I did not want to attend.” A small smile crossed her owner’s lips. “I personally do not want to see them being taken away by nature. I just… can’t. Maybe someday, when I am ready.”

“Why? Because Chris still deserves to live, and your father is a selfish bastard for taking him away from you?” New D’s expression changed, and Ro knew she’d hit the point. “When you agreed for the bargain with your father, you didn’t expect to be close to Chris, right? That’s why you’re regretting it now?”

New D didn’t say anything, but Ro knew better anyway. She decided to change the topic, not wanting to distress her owner even more. “Where are your father’s pets now? T-chan and all?”

“My great-grandfather is the one taking care of them in Tokyo, together with his own pets. He never approves of Father’s decision to leave his own body for Leonard Orcot’s sake, but he cannot stop him for some reason. The least he could do was attending to his pets, the only things he left.”

“Gosh.” Ro sighed. “Your father truly likes to make things complicated.”

“Indeed. He is such a strange individual, flawed as he is. I dare to say that disobedience runs in his blood, especially when it comes to Officer Orcot’s older brother. Or maybe he is just in love, but it is still complicated nonetheless.” New D positioned the picture, making sure that the nail was strong enough to hold the heavy frame. After he was done, he stepped back, admiring the beauty. The picture wasn’t too big, but the serene atmosphere was soothing, and it surely fitted the ambiance of the pet shop. “That is what Great-Grandfather always told me,” he finished his earlier speech.

Ro joined him, her eyes shone in approval. “Nice, Count,” she praised.

New D smiled. “I know. Now go inside and I’ll open the shop for today.”

Ro didn’t and New D knew that. The order was just mere formality. Instead of obeying him, she returned to the sofa and watched as the pet shop owner turned the sign on the door, telling passersby that _Count D’s Pet Shop_ was open for the day. Around an hour later, the door was opened, showing a middle-aged woman that both of them knew well.

“Good morning, Mrs. Walker,” New D welcomed. “How may I assist you?”

“Morning, Count. My daughter wants a cat for her birthday,” Mrs. Walker said, going further into the pet shop. “She’s still in the college now, out there in Florida, but I want to surprise her when she gets home this weekend.”

“I see. Please follow me. I have something that might suit her liking.”

They were going towards the curtain, leading to the back rooms, when Mrs. Walker suddenly stopped. “Nice picture, Count,” she said, her tone filled with admiration. It was a picture of a man, smiling slightly as he was surrounded by two male lions. One was fully grown, while the other was a cub. “Who’s in it? He looks a lot like you, just different haircut.”

“It’s my father,” New D replied. “The picture just arrived this morning.”

Ro had to tell herself not to react.

“Those lions look tame enough.”

“Yes. It is too bad that the cub seems to favor my father the best. I’d love to have him around, but Father said he never leaves his side, unless when his brother does, and it is such a rare occasion.”

“How _sweet!_ ” Mrs. Walker exclaimed mirthfully, unaware of the dark expression that flashed on New D’s face. “That sounds amazing! Your family surely has a way with animals, even ones as scary as lions!”

“Indeed we are, Ma’am.” New D paused as he pushed the curtain open. “Now, shall we?”

After they had disappeared to the back, Ro returned her eyes towards the picture. She didn’t see a man surrounded with two lions; she never did, and never did New D and the rest of his pets. She saw a family photo. There was a tall man, his blond hair long and tied in a ponytail. He was standing at the back, smiling in a cool fashion.

 _That must’ve been Leonard Orcot_ , she told herself. _It’s not that hard to recognize him, since Officer Orcot really takes after him._

Leon looked dashing in his dark blue tuxedo, contrasting his fair complexion but somehow matching his blue eyes. Ro suddenly remembered Tetsu, New D’s father’s pet, who had told her about his contempt towards the late LAPD detective and the desire to eat him. Ro wondered if the toutetsu ever saw the human in formal wear, because he was so _nice_ in it. Maybe that was just her female hormones talking, and she pushed the thought away.

On the front, New D’s father sat on the chair, the details of his cheongsam beautifully crafted and screamed for elegance, even more than his son’s. Meanwhile, a little version of Leonard Orcot—his baby brother Christopher, the one her owner had put his eyes on—stood nearby, grinning widely at the camera, dressed as formal, and posed as cool, as his brother.

Ro looked back up at the Count, who didn’t smile as freely as the two brothers, but his mismatched eyes shone in something that only could be described as pure delight and adoration. Despite the oddity that was his cheongsam and his race and his physical appearance—surrounded by two American human beings that contrasted him so badly—he looked like he _belonged_ there.

As if he had made the right choice.

She beamed despite herself, understanding completely as she was captured with the beauty of the image.

Disobedience, she thought, might have its good sides.

* * *

  _Usual fights._

_Random, loud and scary, but would never lose its appeal._

_“Ignorant oaf! How many times have I told you this?! I wind up repeating myself every single time you come over! I swear I’d better off having tea with the gerbils!”_

_“Well, why don’t you have it with them, then, if you’re so eager?! Sorry, but I have better things to remember than your stupid rules of etiquette!”_

_“You do **NOT** drink tea with the spoon still in the cup! And you never, **NEVER** , blech out sing ‘twinkle, twinkle, little star’ when you are done drinking!”_

_“Hey! I did that so you could sing along!”_

* * *

**FIN.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: October 21, 2019
> 
> So, here it is, everyone. Thank you for reading.
> 
> Anyway, I commissioned my friend Julia to draw the portrait in the end. Here it is!  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/BgfSsxFAcYw/?igshid=9siygtqe68tw 
> 
> (just copy the link, I'll try to fix it when I'm on my laptop)
> 
> Reviews are much appreciated! :)


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